


Overcome

by StormEnchanter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoptive Parent Bobby Singer, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Amelia Novak abandoned her family, Biphobia, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Cain is Cas' dad in this fight me, Cas works at a hospital, Castiel Has Feelings for Dean Winchester, Castiel is a single father, Child Abandonment, Claire loves batman, Dean Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dean is a mechanic, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Fic takes place in early 2000s, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalized Biphobia, Interracial Relationship, John Winchester has Schizophrenia, M/M, Mixed Family, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Pansexual Castiel (Supernatural), Pansexual Crowley (Supernatural), Past Castiel/Amelia Novak, Past Child Abuse, References to Depression, Sam goes to law school, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormEnchanter/pseuds/StormEnchanter
Summary: One day, Dean goes to a local park with plans on downing a bunch of pills and ending his own life, until his path crosses with a bright-eyed little girl, introducing herself as Claire, who proclaims that she’s lost. Dean takes care of her until her father, a local surgeon named Castiel Novak, shows up to come and retrieve her. Dean thinks that will be the end of it. What he didn’t count on was for those two to somehow manage to worm their way into his life.-----This fic deals with heavy themes, please check the tags and the trigger warnings listed in the notes.





	1. Everything Begins Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fanfic for the Supernatural fandom or more specifically for the Destiel fandom lol. The idea for this fic came about when I thought about what a "no monsters" reimagining of this show would look like, especially with all the angst and drama that came along in the show, before realizing that the first few seasons of Supernatural very well could have taken away all of the monsters and still been compelling. So Overcoming is my reimagining of what life and pain would be like for Sam, Dean, and much of the characters from the show would be like living in California in 2005. 
> 
> Overcoming isn't going to be a pretty story. It's going to be brutal and cover some dark themes (if you haven't read the tags yet, here's your fair warning now). **Overcoming is going to explore themes of child abuse, sexual assault, depression, suicidal ideation, and more.** Like I said it's not going to be a pretty story and I do have a lot of scenes planned out that aren't for the faint of heart, so if you have any problems with that please step away now.
> 
> Beyond that please enjoy a project of intense love and passion that's been planned out for quite some time.

**March 5th, 2005**

Laughter. Shouts of children running about underneath the careful supervision of their parents rip through the air, competing with the sickly sweet smell sugar-saturated ice cream and other frozen treats that were being peddled out of an ice cream truck by a greying woman. The all too familiar jingle of the ice cream truck that lured tired and sugar starved children over to the truck. Some of their tiny hands tugging against their parents own in a vain effort to drag them over to the truck to get an overly saturated sugary treat. 

A gleeful yell rose up from the park as a small toddler shoved her closed fists up into the air. Her green eyes shimmered with delight, the sun bouncing off of her dark curls as the laughter shook her chubby stomach. Small granules of sand dripped down from her fist as she shook them in the air. Pulling her hands back down in front of her face, she attempted to shove her sand-filled fists into her mouth, causing her mother to leap up off of the bench that she was sitting on; a sharp, flustered,  _ “No, Emily!” _ rang out into the air.

Across the park, a young mother had her nose buried deeply into a mystery, romance novel as she used the tip of her foot to rock the stroller in front of her forward and back. The sleeping baby inside of it, basking underneath the warm spring air.

A gentle breeze picked up in the park, rustling the blooming tulips and lilies. All in all, it was a perfect, picturesque spring afternoon with nothing out of place—except for the lone man sitting on a park bench that stuck out like a sore thumb.

He was rather handsome. Some of the mothers—married and single alike—glanced at him, flirtatious smiles stretched across their faces as they waved politely at him, ogling his clean-shaven face, vivid green eyes, and dark brown hair that made him look like a Greek statue come to life.

It didn’t hurt that he was dressed head to toe in a black t-shirt, faded jeans that had seen better days, and a dark brown leather jacket that gave him a rugged bad boy look. The sunlight glinted off of amulet that was draped around his neck on a leather cord. It was something that had been given to him by his brother years ago. Reaching up, he grasped it in his hand and held it out into the sunlight; the rays bouncing off of the brass object that had been painted over with metallic gold. Honestly, he knew his brother had gotten it off of one of those cheesy tourist stops that always had been next to the local gas station, but he never had it in his heart to toss it away and had cherished it so many years later. It was a humanoid head, with horns and African tribal adornment all over it. On the back, there was the still the faded corner of a  _ made in China _ sticker on it that had never quite successfully peeled off.

The happiness and gleeful laughter that he found himself surrounded by in that park felt like a weight to his chest as he slunk further down on the bench. If anything he sat there as a reminder of what it was he was going to miss when he was gone. Reaching down, he slipped his right hand into the pocket of his leather jacket, his fingers brushing across the lid of the pill bottle that seemed to weigh down his jacket more heavily than the burdens on his shoulder. His thumb swiped across the scratched off label on the bottle of pills he’d purchased off some junkie behind the 7/11 a few blocks away. 

As his thumb swiped across the label, he finally settled on leaving the park soon. He’d pick up a burger from his favorite mom and pop shop, a six-pack of beer to go with as well, and settle back into the comfortable silence of his apartment as Black Sabbath played in the background. He’d down the bottle of pills and wait for them to have their effect. Lulling him into a restless sleep, that hopefully, he’d never have to wake up from.

As he was about to rise up from the bench, the soft cry of a child cut through the happy and gleeful noises of the park. His eyebrows pressed together in confusion causing him to sweep his gaze across the park in the source of the noise until he found a little girl tucked underneath the monkey bars.

_ It’s not your problem _ . He thought to himself.  _ Just leave it. Her parents should come shortly _ .

He waited. Eyes flickering from bench to bench to find the little girl’s mother. Moms who were preoccupied with their own kid ignored the little girl, choosing to pack up their kids and set off on the way back home. Other mothers cast a glance at the young girl, seemingly deciding that she wasn’t their problem; that someone else would come along to help her.

Rising from the bench, he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to walk away, attempting to ignore the cries of the little girl that seemed to increase with each step that he took until he found himself standing stone still along the sidewalk.

_ Goddammit _ . He berated himself mentally as he spun on his heels and began to lightly jog to where the monkey bars were at. 

The little girl froze upon hearing his footsteps approaching here, her bright ocean-blue eyes still shimmering with tears as she blinked up at him. Her cheeks pink and rosy from crying for however long she’d been there. Her blonde hair sparkled underneath the sunlight. She carefully watched him from a distance with the wariness of a child who was unused to a stranger. Her eyes watched his every movement as he came to a stop a foot away from her, dropping down to one knee on the sand-covered playground.

“Hey,” he smiled at her awkwardly, unused to having to deal with a child when it’s been years since his brother, Sam, was one. “My name’s Dean. What’s yours?”

“Claire,” the young girl blubbered out, her eyes narrowing as her face scrunched up with the threat of crying again.

“Hey, hey,” Dean chanted softly, holding his hands up to show that he wasn’t going to hurt her. “It’s okay. Where’s your mommy?”

“I don’t know,” Claire responded her bottom lip trembling. “I don’t know where mommy is.” She burst out into tears again. Glancing nervously around him, Dean could see a few mothers lifting their heads to stare at him; their gazes flickering between him and Claire.

“Hey, Claire, hey,” Dean repeated her name a few more times to get her attention. The young girl who Dean decided couldn’t be any older than 3 or 4 lifted her head in response. “We’re going to find your mommy, okay?” She nodded her head at that, using her fists to rub at her eyes. “Here, hold my hand okay?” Dean stuck his hand out and waited till Claire stuck her tiny own in his. He pulled her up as he rose up from the playground, his eyes searching around the park for a potential woman that could be Claire’s mother.

Finding no one, he bent down and noticed sand sticking to the side of Claire’s bright blue sundress that was patterned with yellow daffodils. He brushed the sand off, before asking Claire if she saw her mother.

Puffing out her cheeks, Claire stared at Dean as if he was being silly. “Mommy’s not at the park.”

Jesus Christ.

“Ok, then who did you come to the park with?”

“I came with my daddy, silly.” Dean stood up, trying to search for any man who was desperately trying to find his missing child. He didn’t see a single person who fit the bill and sighed, glancing down at Claire to see if she couldn’t give him a better description than that. He paused upon noticing Claire with her index finger in her mouth, her eyes glued to one of those cartoon ice pops that had bubblegum for eyes that a kid passing them was munching down on.

“Claire?” Claire snapped her head up to stare at him, her eyes comically wide. “Do you want an ice cream?” Yanking her now spit covered finger out of her mouth, Claire’s mouth widened in glee as she squeaked out a, “yes, please!”

The two of them walked over to the ice cream truck with Dean caving in and lifting Claire into his arms when she announced that she couldn’t see the list of ice cream for sale. When it came to their turn, the elderly woman beamed at them and asked Claire which ice cream she wanted.

“That one!” Claire announced, pointing to the side of the decked-out truck that depicted a Tweety Bird ice cream bar. Dean paid for it, watching Claire squeal with glee as she opened the freezing cold wrapper to reveal Tweety Bird’s frozen likeness. Shoving the ice cream into her mouth, Dean carried her over to an empty bench and placed her down as she happily munched on the ice cream without so much as a single care in the world.

Her little feet swinging against the bench, her black shoes sparkling in the sunlight as she hummed an off-tempo tune to herself. 

“Claire!” Dean sat up a little straighter as a sharp yell cut through the park. Turning his head, he could see a rather tall guy around his own height rushing towards where they sat. A 5 o’clock shadow graced his jaw, with a head of hair that managed to look ruffled yet was unparted. Dean noticed that it was jelled in the front with short spikes of hair at his sides that pointed slightly forward. From a distance, his eyes looked to be the same shade of color as Claire’s but the closer he came to the both of them, Dean noticed instead that they were a more intense shade of blue that seemed brighter than the sky above their head.

Dean’s brows arched up at the man’s unusual appearance though, wondering if he really could be Claire’s father. As she seemed so put together, whereas this man...didn’t. A pair of well worn, white sneakers graced his feet. A tan trenchcoat was tucked underneath his arm—that Dean thought was a little unusual for the spring weather—but most unusual of all was the powder blue scrubs that the man wore. There was a tiny, plastic white ID that was pinned above his heart that showcased on the left of it, a picture of his smiling face with the word, cardithoracic surgeon, beneath it. In big bold letters at the top of the ID were the words,  _ hospital staff _ . The emblazon of a flaming heart wrapped with a crown of thorns took up a corner of the ID. Dean’s eyes trailed down the ID as he read the man’s name. Castiel Novak. Beneath it was the name of the hospital Dean guessed that he worked at. Mercy Hospital.

Hopping off of the bench she was sitting on, Claire through her arms above her head; her ice cream slowly beginning to drip down her fingers in the warm spring heat. “Daddy!” Her father dropped to his knees as his daughter raced toward him, she wrapped her hands around his shoulder. Dean sucked in his bottom lip in an effort to stifle the laughter that threatened to come out as Claire’s slowly melting ice cream came into contact with the shoulder of his uniform. He could see the man wrinkle his nose at it, but refused to pay it any attention. Instead, he embraced his daughter a little harder, until he was pulling her away from him, a stern scowl on his face, his eyes pinched together as he addressed his daughter.

“Where were you?” Blinking in surprise, Dean was taken aback by the gruff, ravel of the man’s voice. It sounded like something Dean would have accepted to come from a rugged action star in his favorite old-time Western films.

“Dean took care of me when I couldn’t find you.”

The worry on Castiel’s face seemed to harden as he finally noticed Dean sitting on the bench. His eyes narrowed, studying Dean Dean from top to bottom with such a vivid determination that it made Dean think of monster flicks where the monster older than humanity itself gazed down its nose at humanity. It caused Dean to look down at himself and take in the few spots of dried grease on his shirt, and the sand covering the left knee of his jeans. Sighing, Castiel raked a hand through his hair, before holding it out for Dean to shake. Rising up from the bench, Dean reached out, clasping Castiel’s hand in his own and shook it as firmly as he could.

Giving him a nod, Castiel pulled his hand back and rested it on Claire’s shoulders. “Thank you for looking after my daughter. I know she can be a handful at times.”

With a laugh, Dean shook his head, reaching out to ruffle the top of Claire’s head. “No, she was a sweetheart. And that’s coming from someone that practically raised his brother the moment he could start shoving things into his mouth. It wasn’t really a big deal looking out for her.” 

Nodding, yet again, Castiel patted his daughter on her shoulders. “Well, we have to get going, Claire. So why don’t we say thank you to Mr. Dean for looking after you and getting you an ice cream.”

“Thank you, Dean!” Claire breathed out at the top of her lungs, holding her ice cream aloft in her hands like it was a war prize. She slipped her free hand into Castiel’s outstretched own and waved goodbye to Dean with her hand that was still gripping tightly upon her ice cream.

Rising up onto the tips of his toes, Dean stretched out, letting the rays of the sun warm up his face as he finally resigned on leaving the park and heading home. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he found that they were somewhat lighter than they had been moments before.

**March 9th, 2005**

Turning the pill bottle slowly in his hand, Dean stared at the still full bottle of light pink pills as his fingers rotated the bottle from left to right.

His thoughts were churning roughly in his mind.  _ Would it hurt? How long would it take? Would anyone care? _ He let the bottle slip down into his fist, his other hand slowly unscrewing the lid when a sharp knock on his door caused Dean to frown with displeasure. He cursed, placing the pill bottle down on his nightstand as he rose up from his unmade, disheveled bed.

He swore if it was Jehovah's Witnesses again, he was going to tell them that he worshiped at some super obscure pagan cult.

Walking into the living room, Dean headed straight for the door and threw it open. “I told you guys the last time that I don’t want any of your—” His eyes widened in surprise to find someone other than a Jehovah's Witness standing at his door. “Uh, Castiel right?”

Castiel nodded, an awkward smile on his face as he stood outside Dean’s door dressed up in a button-up and dark pants. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were expecting someone else.”

“No,” Dean shook his head, “I—I wasn’t expecting anyone really.”

A single brow shot up on Castiel’s forehead, causing him to chuckle softly. “Oh, okay.” Dean finally noticed the object Cas was carrying in his hands. He jerked his chin at it, causing Castiel’s gaze to widen as he remembered why he’d shown up at Dean’s apartment in the first place. “Oh, I got you a pie as a thank you gift for looking after Claire the other day.” He held out like a peace offering toward Dean. “It’s peach. I don’t really know what type of pie you like or if you like pie—”

“I like pie.” Dean cut him off with a smile, causing Castiel to sigh out in relief. “And peach is fine.” He reached out and took the still warm pie in his hands. “If you don’t mind me asking, but how exactly did you know I lived here?”

Cheeks flushing a gentle shade of rose pink, Castiel glanced down at his shoes. “I know it probably violates so many different laws, but I kind of noticed you were listed as the emergency contact for that guy you brought in to the hospital—the one I work at—on Monday.”

Eyes narrowing, Dean tried to comb through his memory to find who it was Castiel was talking about exactly. “Who—?”

“The guy with the broken leg. Paramedics took him to triage.” 

Recognition flashed in Dean’s mind. “Garth,” he nodded at the name, remembering that he had to call the paramedics to come and fetch Garth, who somehow managed to get his lug crushed beneath the car he was working on. “Yea, I remember that now.” 

The two of them stood there awkwardly, not much more to say between them with Dean awkwardly standing in the doorframe, the pie resting in the palm of his hand as Castiel looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Maybe I should get going—” His eyes widened as if he had seemed to forgotten something, “—oh actually before I leave, Claire wanted me to give this to you.”

Surprise washed over Dean’s face as he watched Castiel reach into his pants pocket to produce a small card. His name shakily written on the front of the envelope in a child’s handwritten. Each letter had been painstakingly drawn in different crayon colors. Eyes flickering up to glance at Castiel, they quickly came back to stare at the letter in his hand. “I’m going to set this down real quick.” Dean motioned to the pie in his hand.

“Oh of course.” Castiel nodded, watching as Dean turned his back to him and headed toward the kitchen that was to his left. He watched Dean place the pie down on the island, before coming back to stand in front of him. He’d already thumbed open the envelope and was slowly pulling out the card.

It was a simple one, Dean found, one of the kinds that wasn’t too fancy and could be picked up at a grocery store. The entire front of the card was covered in rainbow glitter, with gigantic text that read,  _ thank you _ , that was blown up to such proportions that it took up much of the space on the front. Thumbing it open, Dean could feel his throat tighten as he stared down at a crude drawing of batman in the middle of the card. Beneath it was an arrow that led up from Dean’s name to the batman drawing, besides it was a stick figure of a little girl. The arrow underneath her identifying her as Claire. Both of them were holding hands.

Beneath the drawing, written in Claire’s handwriting was a short message:

_ Thank you for being my hero, Dean! _

_ L🎔ve, _

_ Claire _

Where the o in love should have been, it had been replaced with a drawing of a heart. His throat felt hot and prickly all at once as he reread the short message over and over in his mind.

Somehow he found it in himself to stare Castiel in the face, he cleared his throat as he gave Castiel a sharp nod. “Thank you for the card...and the pie.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel smiled at him, his teeth all perfect and white. He turned on his heels to leave just as Dean was shutting the door to his apartment, when he stopped, his hands clenching together as he glanced up at the ceiling as if it would offer him some answer. Muttering beneath his breath, Castiel swiveled on his feet. “Actually, wait!”

Dean opened the door wider, his brows arched in surprise. He watched Castiel sigh, nervously raking a hand through his hair. “Actually...would you like to join me and my daughter for dinner? This Saturday?” Castiel glanced nervously at him. “I know it’s super sudden, but since I have the weekend off, I could treat you to a good homecooked meal as a proper thanks for looking after Claire. I can’t promise my cooking is Gordon Ramsey worth, but it’ll be good enough compared to whatever you usually order out.”

Dean glanced over at the overflowing kitchen trash that he hadn’t bothered to take out yet. Burger King wrappers, cartons from various local food places, and empty cans of beer threatened to spill out of the container.

“You know that stuff isn’t good for you right?” Castiel lightly joked as Dean thought about the three-day-old Chinese takeout, soggy McDonald’s fries, and three cans of beer that existed as the only items in his fridge at the moment.

“What time should I be there?” Castiel cracked a smile as he wrote down his address and the time on the back of a takeout menu that Dean had laying around. When that was finally taken care of Castiel promised to see him on Saturday, before bidding him goodbye.

Dean watched him leave down the hallway, shutting the door behind him he leaned against it. Letting his head fall back so that the wood just kissed it, he squeezed his eyes shut as he wondered how the hell Castiel and his daughter had managed to worm their way into his life.

Propping up Claire’s card in the living room, Dean sniffed himself, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he decided that he needed a shower. Heading off into the bathroom that was next to his bedroom, he turned the shower on.

As the nearly steaming stream of water soaked into his skin and hair, any thoughts about the pills that now sat upon his end table slipped from his mind, just like the water that slipped into the drain.


	2. Darkness Beneath the Light

**March 12th, 2005**

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Dean glanced around nervously, feeling somewhat out of place in this well to do suburban neighborhood. There were a pair of women walking their dogs who glanced warily at Dean standing on the porch of Castiel’s home, which made him frown and glance down at himself.

He paused, taking a deep whiff of himself that brought to him the scent of his shampoo and the deep scents of his cologne that he had sprayed on himself after spending nearly an hour in the shower this morning. 

A warm prepackaged tub of potato salad rested between Dean’s hands as he stood on the porch nervously, his back straightening when the front door was thrown open to reveal a much more leisurely looking Castiel. He wasn’t wearing his hospital scrubs but instead a powder blue button-up. The cuffs were rolled up to his elbows and a pair of jeans hugged his legs.

“Uh, this is for you.” Dean managed to choke out as he thrust the tub of potato salad toward Castiel’s chest. “Sorry, I didn’t bring anything else.” Dean quickly muttered out afterward. 

A flicker of warmth burned in Castiel’s eyes as a gentle smile stretched across his face. “You didn’t need to bring anything, but the gesture is appreciated.” The two of them stood there for what seemed like a single heartbeat; staring at one another until Castiel pushed the front door open a little wider and motioned for Dean to enter his home. “Come in.”

“Oh, right,” Dean mumbled as he took a step into Castiel’s home, his heart slamming in his chest harder than the first time he took a girl on a date.

Her name had been Samantha; she’d been plain-faced but she had had a sweet personality Dean remembered, but that hadn’t compared to the sizeable rack she had on her body. Crashing through his thoughts was the sharp, high pitched squeal of a small child. Dean was nearly knocked off balance when Claire came running into the hall, a flurry of pastel and pink, and launched herself at Dean’s leg.

His entire body went stiff from the contact, but Dean bent down as much as he could to pat Claire on her back even as her grip tightened around his leg like was a barb stuck to the fabric of his jeans.

Glancing up at him with her wide eyes, her lips were split apart into a huge grin. “Are you going to eat dinner with me and Daddy!?”

Nodding his head caused Claire’s grin to widen as she unglued herself from his leg just as Castiel told him to make himself comfortable as the chicken was still in the oven. Stretching her arm up in the air, Claire wiggled her fingers at Dean who softly smiled at her, reached out, and grasped her hand in his own. She lead Dean into the living room, where he spied a pink plastic table surrounded by four equally pink plastic chairs. Upon the table rested plastic teacups with little saucers, a sugar dish, and a teapot. In one seat rested a Barbie doll dressed up in her outfit from the nutcracker film. In the other chair—much to Dean’s surprise and curiosity that caused his brows to raise upon his face—was a Batman action figure.

“Please have a seat.” Claire pointed to one of the empty chairs, her high pitched voice laced with every bit of authority as a queen presiding over her queendom would possess.

A sudden panic rose in Dean’s chest, his eyes flittering toward the kitchen where he’d watch Castiel walk into just moments before, he glanced back at Claire his mouth going dry from his nerves. A thousand thoughts overwhelmed him as he realized that he hadn’t much practice being around kids, not since Sam had grown out of wearing diapers and could quickly fend for himself by scrounging together a meal that required nothing more than a microwave.

Swallowing down his nerves, Dean smiled at Claire and took the seat she had pointed out for him. 

“What type of tea do you want?” She asked, picking up a plastic wand, the handle wrapped in purple, satin ribbons. She busied herself by waving the wand over the teacup in front of Batman and Barbie, though Dean made a note for a later occasion to ask Castiel what the Batman action figure was about.

Trying his best, a shaky smile stretched across Dean’s face as he pointed to the plastic teapot in the center of the table. “What kind of tea do you have?”

Tapping the teapot with the wand, Claire began to rattle off the different flavors and types of teas she had for just this one single occasion. “We have ninja princess tea, unicorn tears tea, mermaid water, and soda!”

“I think I’ll take the ninja princess tea.” Dean watched her tip the teapot over a plastic cup and waved her wand over the entire thing once she was done before pushing the teacup in front of him.

He lifted the cup up and pretended to take a sip from it, earning him an adorable gap teethed grin from Claire. As he did so, his eyes were caught by the numerous family photos that lined the wall of the living room, each one showing Castiel and Claire at different places and times. Though Dean realized, he didn’t see a single photo of Claire’s mom anywhere. He busied himself playing with Claire, at some point she busted out a set of child’s makeup and nail polish and though Dean tampered down the dark claws of feelings and thoughts he’d never ever display in front of a child so long as he lived, he forced himself to put on a smile as Claire frowned at the black nail polish and the sparkly blue one she had in either of her hands before frowning at him.

They ended up finally settling on the black one after Dean had made a joke about the color being “grungy.” By the time Castiel walked into the living room, he slapped a hand over his mouth and tried his best to stifle the snort of laughter that was threatening to rip itself out of him.

“Oh, yea, keep laughing buddy.” Dean glared at him, his right eyebrow sharply raised on his face as he wiggled his freshly painted nails in Castiel’s direction. 

“Dean, don’t move!” Claire huffed as she smeared some black eyeshadow around Dean’s right eye to match his left one. “There!” Claire bellowed, “you’re done!” She pulled away from Dean just as he turned his head to face Castiel, who took one good look at Dean and doubled over, his hands pressed against his knees as he laughed wildly with abandon. 

Dean frowned at him, the cold glare losing much of its power by the way the corners of Dean’s lips wobbled with mirth. He didn’t need a mirror to tell him he looked ridiculous from the two dark smudges around his eyes that made him look like a raccoon and the black nail polish coating his fingernails. Dean was the poster child of an emo kid who just discovered the world of makeup.

“Dinner’s ready by the way,” Castiel managed to finally stutter between breaths of laughter.

With a sharp rise of his brows, Castiel pointed a single finger in the direction of down the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. First door on your right.”

Dean grunted out a noise of thanks as he hurried down to the bathroom to wash the makeup off around his eyes. A few minutes later and Dean found himself seated at the dining room table. Castiel was seated across from him, with Claire to Dean’s right; propped up in a booster seat as she leaned forward to grab at her plastic cup full of water.

The cup was just out of her reach, her cheeks pink from the exertion of effort as she curled her fingers inward and then out in an effort to reach the cup. With a soft smile, Dean nudged the cup just a few inches forward to which Claire smiled at him gratefully as she pulled the cup toward her body to take a sip. 

His skin itched with the sensation he usually got when someone was watching him, turning his gaze slightly he could see Castiel watching him with half-lidded eyes. His normally ocean blue eyes now transfigured to resemble the dark storm clouds rolling over a farmer’s field. Dean stared at him, confusion twisting itself in his gut as he watched whatever emotion had gripped Castiel tight bleed from his face as the dark-haired man picked up a carving knife and a fork to cut through the roasted whole chicken that took up much of the table.

Dean’s senses were all over the place the moment he cut off a piece of one of the several cuts of roasted chicken that Castiel had placed on his plate. The bird was juicy and succulent, with the sharp note of spices cutting through. There was a fair bit of heat along with it too but it wasn’t an overbearing type of heat, but one that woke up the tastebuds along the surface of the tongue.

The rice that Castiel cooked somehow elicited the same response in Dean. The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out as he somehow managed to taste the barest of hints of coconut in the rice on his plate. “God,” Dean groaned, shaking his head as he pointed at the chicken on his plate with his fork. “This is the best bird I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

He watched as Castiel gave a soft shrug of his shoulders, an embarrassed half-smile gracing his features. “It’s just something I quickly threw together.”

Conversation flowed as easily after that like the vintage red wine that Castiel had brought out. They talked about anything and everything that didn’t require too much thought to muster up. They talked about the weather, whatever events had popped up in the news lately, they talked about the San Franciso 49ers chances at making it to the NFL this year—though Dean revealed that he didn’t have much faith in them and instead was rooting for the Minnesota Vikings. At random points, Claire would interject to tell her own stories, ranging from having pet the neighbors Golden Retriever yesterday to the Barbie movie she had watched with her father last weekend.

There was a lull in the dinner conversation that Dean decided to break up with a question that in his mind wasn’t a heavy topic to ask about. “So where’s your wife?” Dean’s eyes flittered around the room, the natural sunlight outside had long gone and Dean was half expecting Castiel’s wife to walk through the door.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed at the question, his lips flattening out in a manner that made Dean confused by the reaction to what in his mind seemed like an innocent enough question. “My wife?” Those two words rattled around Castiel’s mouth like marbles.

“Yea?” The tail end of that singular word rose sharply enough on Dean’s lips that it sounded like a question. “Unless you two aren’t married—which no judgment against that—I was just wondering when Claire’s mom would get home or where she is since I haven’t seen a picture of her anywhere yet.”

There was something so sharp and bitter that flashed across Castiel’s face that he quickly realized that Claire’s mom seemed like a bitter topic to Castiel. The corner of Castiel’s lips twitched so sharply as he reached out to grasp the stem of his wine glass, he took a sip and then set the glass back down before responding sharply. “She’s around,” Castiel grunted out, his words so sharp that if they were a knife it would have sliced Dean in half. 

A dark cloud hung over Castiel’s head, the dinner now gripped up by a sour mood of past memories that were best left buried beneath the sands they’d been dug up from as Castiel dragged up memories from a few years back that he wished Amelia had taken with her just as easily as she had walked out the door, leaving Castiel behind with a wailing Claire in his arms and a parting gift of divorce papers and a wedding ring left behind in a cold home.

**4 years ago**

_ Running his fingers through his dark hair, Castiel’s lips were pursed in silent anger as he watched his college sweetheart, his wife of four years, rushing around the room picking up jewelry and clothes _ — _ everything that was hers _ — _ to toss into the maroon suitcase that she had laid open on their _ — _ now it was his; solely his, he realized with a bitter chuckle _ — _ bed. There was another suitcase lying next to it, though it was slightly smaller, she’d managed to chuck in most of her dresses and personal items that she had. _

_ “What about the pictures?” He’d asked her as she walked past the dresser. There was a smiling family photo of her, him, and a one-month-old Claire. She hadn’t even spared it a single glance as she’d walked past. _

_ “I don’t want them.” Were the only words she gave him; it seemed to be the only type of response he’d been getting since she broke the news that she was leaving him _ — _ leaving Claire. She didn’t want them, just like she didn’t want him, just like she didn’t want the daughter she’d seemed so giddy and overjoyed on having when he’d walked in through the front door of their home, a positive pregnancy test gripped so tightly in her hand that it had made him spin at the news.  _

_ He was going to be a father; they were going to be parents. _

_ Castiel snorted bitterly at the memory. How quickly things seemed to change when everything had been wrapped up in a neat little lie. _

_ “Just stay,” Castiel whispered, the emotions so raw and real in his voice that it made Amelia falter. The muscles in her back were bunched up together tightly, a sigh ripped itself from her lips, her shoulders falling as she pressed her hands against the edges of her suitcase like it was a lifeline. A lifeline that steadied her and filled her with resolve once more to face Castiel. _

_ “No,” that single word was so resolute that she barely blinked as she went toward the closet to pick out a pair of black pumps that were there. She lifted them up to stare at them contemplatively before walking back to the bed to tuck the pumps into a single corner of her suitcase. “You know I can’t,” Amelia whispered in the harsh silence of the bedroom. _

_ “Why not?” The anger was there in his voice, so sharp and thick that he was afraid that if he let the anger go, he’d fall deep. He had nothing holding him up; keeping his head above the water like Amelia did. Where she had her determination and conviction, he had nothing. She made sure of that when she decided to rip his heart out today after dragging his death out for so long. _

_ Amelia sighed, a harsh sound like she was tired of having this conversation with him. She whirled around, a fire burning in her eyes and her mouth set into a harsh yet tired line. “Because I’m not ready to be a mother, Castiel!” _

_ “So what?!” Castiel snapped, his lips curling back into a frustrated snarl. “Do you think I’m ready to be a father either!?” _

_ Sighing he watched Amelia’s head drop between her shoulders, her hands reaching out to grip either side of her suitcase tightly. Turning, she fixed her weary turquoise-colored eyes upon him. “You’re going to be good at this Castiel...the problem is...I’m not.” _

_ “So stay!” Castiel growled out, “Make this work for Claire! For us!” He was breathing rapidly now. “If I haven’t been a good enough husband I can change. If I need counseling, if you need it, if we need it, I’ll do it. Just stay!” _

_ “Castiel!” Amelia shouted, whipping her head around to face him so quickly that her honey blonde hair was like a whip that cracked at the air and caused Castiel to step back at the harshness of it. “What do you want me to say!?” She hissed, her eyes narrowing till they were nothing more than slits. “Hmm? I need to go find myself and finding myself doesn’t mean staying here, playing a housewife for you or playing a mother for Claire.” _

_ “Is that what this was about?”Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Being a housewife? If what you wanted was a job I wouldn’t have held you back from getting one. I could have asked my job for fewer hours, asked my mom or my sisters to look after Claire while we went to work until Claire is old enough for daycare. I could have _ — _ ” _

_ “ _ — _ That’s not what any of this is about!” Amelia shook her head fiercely as if she was pissed that Castiel couldn’t read and understand her thoughts, her eyes burning with frustration. _

_ The baby monitor on Castiel’s beside table crackled to life, Claire’s baby-like mewling filtering through the room until it turned into a full-blown fussy cry. Like a magic spell, it seemed to reinvigorate Amelia into action. She resumed packing as Castiel left the room to rock Claire back to sleep for her afternoon nap. When she had calmed down with some gentle rocking and a lullaby or two, Castiel walked back into the bedroom to watch Amelia zip up her suitcases. _

_ “So you’re really leaving…” He was done, so done that he hardly spared a glance at Amelia who turned her head to stare at the man she had forced down into a darkened hole. If she felt guilty about what she was doing _ — _ what she had done _ — _ she didn’t show it. _

_ “Yes,” She nodded stiffly. “Anything that I left behind, you can pack it up and ship it to my sister’s address, she’ll forward it to me.” _

_ “Where are you going to go?” _

_ She shrugged her shoulders. “Truthfully? Anywhere that isn’t here. I don’t know where I’ll end up, but...I’ll make sure to call you and Claire once in a while.” _

_ Castiel shook his head, he walked over to the bed and sank down upon it. “We could have talked about this,” he sighed, letting his head collapse into his hands. _

_ A flash of hurt flickered across Amelia’s face as she lifted her hand, her fingers outstretched toward Castiel’s shoulders, but she paused unsure of if in that moment it was appropriate or not to touch him. She pulled her hand back and instead placed her suitcases down on the floor, she pulled the handle out of one of them. _

_ “We could have,” she hummed, “but I saw how bad you wanted to be a father and I thought...I thought that maybe I would grow to love Claire the way you do, but I can’t Castiel. I just can’t. Sometimes people aren’t cut out to be parents.” _

_ Lifting his face from his hands, Castiel stared at Amelia’s back in disgust as she walked over to the dresser to pick up a box of jewelry that she tucked underneath her arm. “Then it’s a good thing you’re leaving, huh?” He spat, a part of him watching in sick satisfaction as her cheeks darkened a ruddy shade of embarrassment. _

_ She said nothing to him for what seemed like an eternity as she pursed her lips together. “Goodbye, Castiel.” She whispered so softly that he hadn’t heard it at first. He didn’t say anything back to her when she picked up her other suitcase, dragging the larger one behind her as she walked out of the bedroom. _

_ He sat there on that bed until he heard the front door open and shut. Only then did he allow the tears he’d been holding back to slip down his cheeks. _

**Present Day**

Claire, usually a bright-eyed and energetic kid, seemed to dim a little when it came to any mention about her mother. She glanced at Dean, her grin wide, but not as wide as Dean had seen it before. “Mommy sometimes calls me on my birthday!”

He knew Claire meant it as a positive thing; hell some parents never called their kids at all, never bothered to get to know them. But to Dean, this was the saddest thing he’d ever heard in his entire life. The saddest thing he’d ever heard a kid say.

All three of them fell into a companionable silence until Claire was nearly falling asleep after Castiel had placed her on the couch and selected a channel that was playing  _ Lilo & Stitch  _ for her to watch. Dean helped Castiel put up the leftovers, only to be shooed away when he offered to help with the dishes as well.

It was getting late by the time Castiel offered Dean a ride home, knowing well that Dean had caught a taxi all the way here. Dean had gotten up from the couch causing Claire to stir from the gentle tug of sleep that was pulling her under.

She burst into tears upon hearing the news that Dean was leaving, throwing herself onto Dean, her tiny fists clutched the thick leather of his brown jacket as she began to wail that she didn’t want Dean to leave.

Castiel sighed as he attempted to pry his daughter away from Dean. “Okay, how about this,” he sighed, trying to work out a compromise. “You can help me take Dean home.”

And that’s how Dean ended up in the passenger seat of Castiel’s car. From the rearview mirror, Dean was watching Castiel place Claire in her car seat. By the time Castiel climbed in the driver’s seat and had pulled away from the curb, Claire was out like a light; the streetlamps lining either side of the road casting shadows across her angelic face.

“She’s a pretty cool kid,” Dean chuckled to himself as Castiel gave him a reassuring smile.

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever described her in such a manner,” he responded, flipping his blinkers on as he pulled up to a stop at a red light.

Dean hummed to himself, glancing at Castiel from the corner of his eyes as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It seems like you’re doing a pretty great job raising her though.”

“It was a touch and go job for quite some time,” Castiel uttered, “though I try to do my best. What about your parents Dean?” He asked, inching the car forward as the light above them finally turned green.

Dean slightly stiffened in his seat, an uncomfortable quiet growing between the two men at the question of Dean’s parents. His voice dropped in pitch, it was a silent whisper even despite the little ambient noise that existed in the car. The only sounds were the soft notes of some pop song that had been on the billboard charts for weeks and Claire’s soft snores.

“Uh,” Dean stuttered, looking a little bit uncomfortable. “My mom was murdered when I was a toddler—”

Castiel’s eyes widened, he briefly glanced at Dean as he rolled up to a stop sign. “I’m so sorry.” Dean shot him a furtive look that told him he accepted the condolences. “What about your dad?”

“My dad?” Dean blinked, a sudden onslaught of memories bubbled to the surface in his mind; memories that made his breath quicken with each blink that he took. Memories of water crashing over his face, filling his lungs and nose. His fingers slipping over wet porcelain. Sam’s cries muffled through the thick wood of the motel bathroom door. 

His face breaking through the sloshing waves of the water, his tears mingling with the water below him as he cried for his dad to stop.

_ “I’ll be good. I promise. I promise, Dad.” _

He felt sick to his stomach, his skin going clammy and cold. He must have been quiet for so long because he’s snapped from his thoughts by Castiel calling out his name, his brows furrowed in worry as Castiel was glancing him over from head to toe from the corner of his eyes.

Dean forced a smile upon his face, it was wide and plastic. A mask that he had carefully slipped upon his face. “My dad was pretty normal.” He gave Castiel a small shrug of his shoulders, clearly brushing off the question and his odd behavior which had Castiel frowning slightly but he didn’t push the question nor press Dean for answers.

They finally arrived nearly half an hour later at Dean’s apartment. A brick and mortar building in the Bayview area that had a nice vantage point out to the San Francisco Bay from Dean’s apartment window. At that moment Claire chose to stir from her sleep, noticing that they’d arrived at Dean’s apartment she began to wail. Fat tears rolled down Claire’s cheeks, snot dripping from her nose as she threw her head back against her car seat. “Dean won’t see me ever again!” Claire sobbed.

Trying to placate her, Dean twisted around in his seat as much as he could, a warm smile slipping across his face as he reached out to pat her knee. “Hey, kiddo, I’ll see you around at some point.” That must have been the worst thing for Dean to say as Claire seemed to cry even harder than possible. He glanced at Castiel for assistance, the dark-haired man only offered Dean a confused shrug of his shoulders. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Castiel questioned.

“I have the day off.” At that Castiel flashed him a smile, exposing the whites of his teeth.

“Good,” Castiel nodded. “If you don’t mind. What do you say to hanging out tomorrow? Claire seems to be very attached to you, so if you don’t mind, we could do something for lunch or possibly even dinner? Or you could join us for church if you want to.”

Dean gave him a single nod of his head. “Sure, but I have plans to meet my brother early tomorrow.”

Flashing him a single smile, Castiel stared directly in Dean’s eyes as if he was staring into the depths of his soul. “It’s a date then. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

There was something about the way Castiel said it that had the organs in Dean’s body fluttering. Castiel managed to find a small book that he usually kept phone numbers in and a spare pen that he handed over to Dean to write his number down in. Dean quickly scrawled his number on a blank piece of paper and bid Claire and Castiel goodnight with the promise to see them both tomorrow.

He watched them leave after getting out of the car, before making his way up to his apartment. He walked through the dark granite colored front door, pressing a hand against his forehead, his mind toiled through everything that had happened today as Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

He could still hear his younger self screaming in the back of his mind, his heart slamming in his chest as the shadowy bodies of anxiety wrapped itself around his shoulder; his fear shaking as it clung to his leg. Swallowing thickly he lifted his head to glance at his fridge door, his thoughts flashing to the cold six-pack of beer that was sitting on the top shelf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: January 31


	3. Hidden Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to reiterate, there's some heavy content in this chapter (allusions to child abuse, panic attacks, etc) so if this is something you know is going to be triggering to you, please turn back now. Especially since the next chapter does contain child abuse.

**March 13th, 2005**

A loud knock on his door had Dean jerking out of the deep pools of his sleep. “Go away,” he grumbled, rolling onto his side, causing the beer bottle clutched in his hand to roll onto the floor with a dull thud. The knock came again, this time a little bit more incessant, causing Dean’s eyes to snap open, a frown on his face as he groaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Jesus fucking christ,” he mumbled under his breath.

He forced himself off of the couch, wobbling unsteadily as he attempted to avoid the empty beer bottles that were strewn about on the floor.

He groaned as he made his way to the front door, his head pounding and his mouth sour as it usually was whenever he found himself hungover. Throwing open the door, Dean blinked in surprise at his brother standing in the hallway. Sam’s lips were parted to push out a greeting, but the way he pressed his lips shut and how his nose wrinkled as he got a sour whiff of Dean’s body odor told him that greeting wasn’t going to come anytime soon. “Dude, you smell like you slept in a trash can all night, please go take a shower.” Sam groaned, his hand flying up to shield his nose.

“Good morning to you too, bitch,” Dean grumbled, opening the door slightly wider so Sam could come in.

Hopping into the bathroom, Dean took a quick, scalding hot shower to scrub away the thin layer of grime and dirt that clung to his skin. When he was squeaky clean, Dean quickly got dressed and hopped into Sam’s car so they could go to some newly opened coffee shop that was about an hour away from Dean’s apartment.

“An hour drive for some coffee?” Dean had raised a single brow at Sam, his lips pulling into a smirk.

“It’s good from what I heard,” was Sam’s reply, he gave his brother a small shrug of his shoulders.

Shaking his head, Dean pulled out his phone quickly sending a text to Castiel to come and save him as well as the location of the coffee shop he was going to.

It was barely a minute after the text had been sent that Castiel sent him one back that laughed at his misfortune, with a promise that he and Claire would come and save him from his current predicament soon.

Glancing at his brother, Sam jerked back in surprise to find a small smile curving across his brother’s lips. Happiness painted upon his face that hadn’t been there in quite some time. “Dude, what’s up with the smile?”

“What smile?” Dean did his best to return his face into a stoic statue.

“Don’t even attempt to hide it. Whatever you were looking at made you happier than the time Bobby took us to a demolition derby—which speaking of Bobby, he said he’s coming up to California in a few months.”

“Why?” Dean groaned, his eyes widening with suspicion and worry.

“Because he’s worried about you Dean?” And like it had never happened, any good mood that had been building up in the car was instantly swept away to be replaced by Sam’s concern for his brother. The air in the car becoming thick with tension. “To be frank, I’m also worried about you.”

Dean scoffed, choosing to stare out the window at the passing scenery as Sam prattled on. “You’re not eating healthy. The last time I came to your apartment you had nothing but takeout Chinese and Domino’s in your fridge. Would it kill you to just eat a salad for once? Or maybe not drink as much as I know you’re drinking.”

“Sam, drop it. Please.” Dean begged, getting rather annoyed at his brother’s meddling.

Sighing Sam relented until they eventually pulled up to what seemed like a small neighborhood coffee shop, but judging by the amount of signage outside that boasted how much of the coffee shop’s ingredients were natural and locally sourced, Dean knew that it would be some new age, health-conscious store that Sam would be falling all over to experience.

“Really?” Cocking an eyebrow at his brother who parallel parked on the opposite street of the shop, Dean looked ready to walk into traffic instead of walking into the place. 

“Dean, come on, it’s not going to be that bad. We don’t even have to spend that much time here.”

“Fine,” grumbled Dean, “but if you make me go to a ballet after this I will murder you.”

“Yea, yea, prince charming. Now get out of my car.”

They got out of the car and headed inside, the jingle above the door had barely finished signaling the new customers’ arrival before Dean had sunk his teeth into his lower lip to stifle the onslaught of groans that were ready to tumble from his throat.

The interior of the coffee shop looked like one of those vegan, feel-good coffee shops that Dean had seen advertised on late night tv. The ones where the coffee was expensive because the beans are from some unpronounceable country where the monkey’s shit on them as a means of enhancing their flavor.

Following Sam up to the counter, Dean stood beside his brother who briefly glanced up at the menu before ordering a “Secret Garden” smoothie from a cashier who looked like she was barely out of high school.

“What can I get ya?” The cashier glanced at Dean; her voice way too chipper and bubbly for Sunday morning. Dean glanced over the name of the drinks, his eyebrows wrinkling more with each name he read: the Ex-terminator, Tropical Pass, Acid Trip, Apple Pie—he shook his head at the names.

“Can I just get whatever drink doesn’t contain a salad in it and allows you to put as much sugar in it as you’re legally allowed to.”

“So one Apple Pie then?” The cashier asked him with a smirk as Dean pointed to a chocolate chip cookie in the display case next to her.

“One of those too, please.”

The brothers waited for their drinks, with Sam paying for both of their orders before they headed over to a two-seater table on the lefthand side of the place, both tables next to them were empty. They sat in silence for a while, with Sam sipping on his smoothie and Dean staring out the window. Dean silently groaned to himself when Sam began to idly drum his fingers against the table, knowing that was Sam’s nervous tick of drumming up the confidence to bring up some heavy topic he knew Dean wasn’t going to like.

“So I know this great therapist whose willing to take patients without an appointment.”

Pulling his mouth away from the straw of his drink, Dean glowered at his brother. “I’m not going to see some therapist, Sam. I’m not some little bitch.”

From the corner of his eyes, Dean could see a table seating four college-aged girls glare at him disapprovingly for his choice of language. An embarrassed flush coated Dean’s cheeks as he cleared his throat and opted to bite into his cookie before he said something he would regret. Mouth opening, Sam tried to press the issue again, but with a sharp shake of his head Dean shut him down. “Sam, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Dean, please you need to talk to someone. Are you having your nightmares again?”

“Sam.” Dean growled, “drop. The. Subject.”

Searching his brother’s face, Sam frowned as he let the conversation die in a pit of uncomfortableness. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity until Dean heard the squeal of his name and turned around in his seat to see Claire walking through the door. She wore a one-piece dress that was plain white on the torso and the skirt was powder blue. A matching flower-shaped pin was snared in her hair with shiny black shoes completing the whole ensemble.

Eyebrows raising at the appearance of the young girl, Sam darted to his feet just as Castiel came in behind his daughter. He was wearing a white button-up and a dark tie, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with dark slacks and equally dark shoes that were polished until they shined. 

Castiel smiled at Dean, his gaze switching to Sam as he stuck his hand out for the younger Winchester brother to shake.

Sam looked stunned at him, only remembering proper social etiquette when he remembered Castiel’s hand was outstretched toward him. “I’m Sam. Sam Winchester.” Sam stretched his hand out to grasp Castiel’s own and gave it a firm shake. 

“I’m Castiel Novak and this—” Castiel glanced down, placing a hand on his daughter’s head, “—is my daughter Claire.”

Both men smiled at each other; Dean could see the delight on Sam’s face, a light flickering in his eyes with a million questions it seemed like he wanted to ask Castiel.

But with a rather loud and exaggerated groan, Dean rose from his seat, gathered up his trash, and told Sam that he’d see him later.

“Where are you guys going?” Sam asked inquisitively, his gaze darting between Castiel and Claire wearing their Sunday best and Dean...Dean looked like he was dressed up to go to an outdoor concert rather than church. In his faded jeans that had seen better days and his brown leather jacket tossed over a black shirt.

Perking up at the question, Claire tilted her head back to look up into Sam’s face. His height a challenge for such a young girl. “We’re going to church.”

If Sam looked surprised by the presence of Castiel and his daughter, the surprise deepened at the mention of where they were going. “Church?” Sam’s gaze darted between all three of them. “All three of you? Together?” He shot a look at Dean; hope glittering in his eyes as if he believed this was just the first step on a path for Dean to better himself. “That’s good. That’s good.” Sam pointed out.

“Well, Sam,” Castiel smiled at the younger brother, “it was nice meeting you, but I think we should get going, we don’t want to be late.”

With a nod, Sam turned to face his brother. “I’ll see you later? We can get takeout Olive Gardens or whatever you want.”

“Sure,” Dean nodded as Claire tipped her head back and waved goodbye to Sam. Tossing his trash out, Dean followed the Novak’s across the street where Castiel had parked his beetle red Ford Fiesta Mark V.

Dean shook his head, finally able to get a proper look at the car compared to how late it had been when Castiel had driven Dean back to his apartment. “What?” Castiel noticed the look on his face as he lifted Claire up to put her in her car seat. 

“Nothing.” Though the sharp look Castiel gave him prompted Dean to laugh and gesture to the car. “I just didn’t peg you as a Ford Fiesta type of person.”

“Oh really?” Castiel laughed, fishing for his car keys from his pocket so he could unlock the car. “And what type of car person am I?”

Dean hummed, glancing between the car and Castiel as he watched the man open the rear door to place Claire in her car seat. “I think you’re more of a ‘78 Lincoln Continental type of guy. With the car decked out in hydraulics of course.” That caused Castiel to burst out in laughter as he finally situated Claire into the car. With a confused look on her face, she glanced between her dad and Dean.

Castiel was gasping from laughter as he pulled on the seatbelt to lock Claire into her seat. Dean rounded around the car and opened the passenger door, climbing in as Castiel closed the back door to open his own and slide into the driver’s seat. “That’s a pimp car.” Castiel blurted out to Dean as he shoved his keys into the engine and turned it.

The engine purred to life. Pressing a button on the driver’s door, all the doors locked and Dean waited until Castiel had drawn his own seatbelt across his chest to pull away from the curb and merge with oncoming traffic.

“It is,” Dean replied with a shrug, “but somehow it fits you.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Castiel glanced at him, a small smile tracing the curve of plush lips. A warm silence building up between them that was broken by the sound of Claire’s angelic voice asking, “Daddy, what’s a pimp?”

Castiel and Dean burst out laughing.

The ride to church was a companionable one, with Castiel telling Dean some funny stories about his job. Like a medical student who was doing their rotation at his hospital who ended up passing out on a patient who was bleeding buckets. Claire spoke up with her own stories too, like how she’d been drawing a lot more lately or how her dad had taken her to see a Barbie movie or how a kid in her daycare class had managed to make all the daycare workers freak out when they couldn’t find him. Only to discover that he was sleeping in one of the cubbies that kids used to put all of their stuff in.

Dean hardly noticed the length of the ride when they finally pulled up to the church. Havens Corner Methodist Church, the sign staked into the lawn read. Dean peered up at the church as Castiel tried to find a parking space along with a dozen other churchgoers who were doing the same.

The church stood like an imposing monolith over the land. Four tall towers stretching up into the sky, the dark roofs pointed like the tips of stakes. All red brick, tall windows, and white trim. The front doors of the church were thrown wide open, little old ladies standing outside greeting new and old parishioners alike.

Even from the closed car windows, Dean could still hear choir and organ music floating down from the church steps and into the parking lot like a siren song. But for him, the music wasn’t a beckoning of peace, not the way he felt his heart slam in the hollow of his throat, his breath quickening as he dug his fingernails into the denim of his jeans. His eyes danced in his head as he stared out of the parking lot, peering at what seemed like an endless stream of churchgoers piling out of their cars, dressed from head to toe in their Sunday best.

Moms, dads, and children piling out like one giant happy family as they skipped their way across the parking lot and up the well cared for lawn of the church. 

His breaths were getting heavier as unbidden memories flashed in the back of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut as the phantom sensation of water crashing over his face made it difficult to breathe.

In the background, he could hear a young child screaming.

For a moment he thought it was Claire, but he knew what her voice sounded like and he could feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as his brain warned him that it wasn’t her.

_ It’s Sammy’s _ . It seemed to mock him.

_ “You need to be clean!” _ A voice screamed in the back of his mind. This one deeper and older. A voice laced with the hysteria that Dean had grown up knowing all too well when he watched his dad pace up and down the motel room sometimes, muttering to himself with a manic look in his eyes.

“ _ I’ll be good. I promise. I promise.” _ Came Dean’s childlike cries, water filling his nose. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

Castiel didn’t notice the way Dean’s body tensed up ever since they’d pulled into the church’s parking lot. He was freeing Claire from her car seat, when he glanced over at Dean, noticed the way the muscles in his back seemed taught and rigid. He noticed the panicked look that swept over Dean’s face.

Placing Claire onto the ground, he slipped her hand into his and rounded around the car to where the passenger door was, he opened it and placed a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder, causing the man to jerk visibly. His mind wrenching itself out of the memories as he blinked confusedly at Castiel and then at his surroundings.

“Dean, you don’t have to come in if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Dean tried to protest, his clammy hands fumbling against his seatbelt as he tried to pry it off. A hard calloused hand pressed against the back of Dean’s own, forcing him to still as he glanced up at Castiel’s worry lined face.

“Dean, it’s fine,” Castiel reassured him, “when church is over, you, Claire and I can go out for ice cream or something.”

“Ice cream! Ice cream!” Lifting her arms overhead, Claire jumped up and down beside her father, her blonde hair sparkling beneath the sunshine. 

“Okay,” Inclining his head slightly, Dean watched as Castiel shut the passenger door, giving the man a small wave as he watched Castiel lift, Claire, into his arms and walk off into the distance of the church.

Reclining against the seat, Dean took in a deep breath, paused his breathing, trapping the air in his lungs, and then released it slowly. He repeated the process a few times until he could feel his heart no longer slamming in his chest. His eyes slipping shut as he tried to repress the memories that clambered for attention in his head. Seeking to claw their way out with inky black fingers to the front of his mind, display themselves on the giant cinema screen of his consciousness. 

It seemed forever when the church doors finally were thrown open, allowing parishioners to flock from the church and return to their cars. From his seat, Dean spied Castiel and Claire talking to a pair of old women who were fawning over Claire like she was the cutest doll they’d ever seen. Gesturing to the parking lot, Castiel finally was able to pull himself and his daughter away from the old women and made it back to the car.

After strapping Claire in, Castiel got into the car and turned toward Dean. “Ready for ice cream?” 

They went to a local ice cream shop that Castiel knew of that also made their own in house flavors and cones. Claire got two scoops of chocolate chip ice cream in a waffle cone. Castiel got a cup with three scoops of rocky road with chocolate sauce drizzled on top. Though by the sharp arch of Castiel’s eyebrows when he turned his head upon hearing Dean’s order, the Winchester man nearly laughed at the doctor’s face.

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Castiel replied, eyeing the sugar cookie waffle cone that the shop assistant handed to Dean. “Just that one day I get the feeling I’m going to see you at my hospital and we’re gonna have to have a talk about your heart.”

“Probably not,” Dean snorted as he took a lick of his apple pie flavored ice cream. “Besides I’m healthy as a fiddle.”

Castiel only offered Dean a sharp smile; his eyes briefly drinking in Dean’s visage with an odd glint in his eyes that Dean stared back at. Slightly transfixed until Claire tugged on Castiel’s pants trying to drag him over to an empty table.

The three of them sat at a table where Dean and Claire involved themselves in a playful discussion about Batman that Castiel shook his head at. 

“Batman’s way cooler than Aquaman,” Dean pointed out to Claire as the young girl looked at him as if he had just told her the sun was green.

They prattled on, with Castiel joining in the conversation by arguing that Batman and Superman were one and the same, which got him a great verbal lashing by Dean and Claire who told him he’d think the same thing about any members of the Green Lantern Corps. That had caused Dean to burst out laughing and an hour later he was sad when the moment had to come to an end when Castiel pulled up in front of Dean’s apartment.

“Well, here we are.” Castiel motioned to the building.

“Thanks,” Dean removed his seatbelt, his hand resting on the door, he paused. “I had fun today.” He twisted his body, catching a glimpse of Castiel’s smile and his cheeks flushing slightly.

“I had fun too.” Castiel murmured back, staring at Dean, his eyes shimmering with the sweltering flow of an emotion Dean couldn’t put a name too. Crystal blue waters danced beneath the strong rays of the California sun, waters that for a split second Dean felt the compulsion to lose himself under.

“I had fun too!” Claire squealed from the back of the car, breaking through the illusion that had been building between the two men.

They stared at each other for a second more, before the two of them burst into laughter.

“I’ll see you around,” Dean cleared his throat around the laughter, watching Castiel nod his head at his words. He said goodbye to the man, before swiveling around saying goodbye to Claire.

Dean headed up to his apartment. Where he waited till 6 when Sam showed up with an Olive Gardens bag in tow and a pack of beer. They had sat down on the couch to eat in comfortable silence, Sam taking a fork to his herb baked salmon and salad and Dean digging into the chicken alfredo Sam had gotten him. They shared a basket of breadsticks between the two of them.

_ Dr. Sexy M.D. _ was playing on the television screen. In the episode, Dr. Derek Shepard had just discovered that the patient he had been treating was his long-estranged father, coupled with the fact that the new nurse he’d been falling for might potentially be his half-sister.

“ _ Derek _ ,” Dean mumbled around the forkful of chicken and pasta in his mouth, “ _ I don’t care what these results say. _ ” On-screen, Derek’s love interest for the season spun around on her heels, her long red hair flowing sexily behind her. “ _ What matters is my love for you. _ ” The two characters on the screen made out much to Sam’s annoyance.

“I hate that you know this episode line for line.” Sam shook his head with utter disappointment at his brother.

“Sam,” Dean smirked at him, using his sauce-covered fork to gesture at Sam. “I know all the first seven seasons and can quote them.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Sam groaned, he leaned forward to grab a breadstick and tossed it Dean’s head, where it bounced off and fell to the floor.

“Hey!” Dean cried out, gesturing to the fallen breadstick. “Italians everywhere are crying because of your actions.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sam went back to his meal. Only to stop a few seconds later, the tip of his fork spearing a mixture of lettuce and croutons. “How’d your day go with Castiel and his daughter?”

Dean shrugged, placing his food down on the coffee table to take a swig of his beer. “It was fun. Claire’s a pretty good kid. Did you know she knows every single name of Batman’s sidekicks besides Dick, Jason, Barbara, and Damien?”

“Really?” Sam raised a single eyebrow on his forehead, taking in the way that Dean’s face lit up as he talked about Claire and then her father when he recounted some of the funny stories Castiel had told him about his work. “Castiel seems good for you,” Sam whispered after some time, causing Dean to splutter on his beer.

The older Winchester placed the glass bottle down on the table a little harder than necessary causing beer to slosh out from the bottle and splatter onto the table’s surface. A dark, stormy look flashed across Dean’s face. “I’m not like that Sam—” the words rushed out past Dean’s lips, panic wrapping themselves around every syllable as Dean shot up to his feet, his features dark and twisted as he glared at Sam. His heart beating wildly inside of his chest, the surface of his tongue dry and tasting like ash. “I’m not—” Dean couldn’t bring himself to say the rest. His throat felt tight like he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden.

Noticing the signs of his brother panicking, Sam shot to his feet, tossing his salad onto the table. “Dean, calm down.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he turned on his heels and ran toward the bathroom. Slamming the door shut, he locked it even as he faintly heard Sam knocking on the door, calling out his name. A memory flashed in his mind of Sam doing the same, but instead of white, clean porcelain tiles and navy blue walls, he remembered green tiles that had seen better days. Chipped in random places with hideous purple wallpaper that was peeling.

He could hear Sam screaming his name, but it somehow wasn’t right...Sam sounded too young.

“ _ D _ e _ a _ n _ ! _ ”

Dean slid down to the floor, his back pressed against the wooden door as his memories collided with each other, making it harder to detect which memory was in the present, which memory was real and in the moment, which one had been hidden in a box that Dean had long buried. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean pressed his hands against his ears, his fingers weaving through the strands of his hair as he rocked back and forth, his knees tucked against his chest.

“I’m not a sinner,” Dean quietly wheezed to himself, as the box he had forced shut on memories flew open. A dark, humanoid figure in his mind reached for the box, lifting it up and tipping the entire contents over as it smiled, exposing bone, white teeth that were little more than wolves fangs in its mouth. Golden letters were written across its face.  _ Panic _ . It read, before tipping the lid of the box for Dean to see what was written on it.  _ Suppressed memories _ . Dean continued rocking back and forth, tears slipping down his cheeks from his tightly shut eyes. “I’m not a sinner.” He blubbered, even as the memories swirled in his mind.

Memories he had long tried to forget. Memories of a motel bathroom with green bathroom tiles and purple peeling wallpaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: February 14


	4. Secrets of the Past

** _July 17, 1989_ **

_ “Dad! I’m sorry!” Dean yelled as John Winchester threw open the door to the motel room he’d rented. The door swung open, banging against the wall creating a sound so loud that it startled Sammy who’d been sitting at the dirty, small, round table that had come provided with the kitchenette in the room. He was sitting on a pillow on one of the ratty chairs, a bowl of fruit loops in front of him. Sam had been six at the time. Dean remembered. The warm summer heat of Hutchinson, Kansas causing the back of Dean’s shirt to cling to him as his father dragged him into the room. _

_ “Dad! Stop, please stop!” Dean was screaming his head off as John dragged him further into the room, a fevered look dancing in his dad’s eyes as he muttered to himself about Dean having been touched by the devil’s minions; how Dean was God’s favored son and how John would allow nothing to happen to him. “Dad, please stop!” Tears were streaming down Dean’s face as he heard one of the chairs rattle behind him as John dragged Dean kicking and screaming toward the room’s bathroom. _

_ Behind Dean he could hear Sam wailing; Sam screaming for his dad to stop even as John shoved Dean into the bathroom, slammed the door shut behind the both of them and locked it. John’s hand lashed out, grabbing Dean by the collar of his shirt, dragging him up onto the tips of his toes as he dragged his son over to the green, chipped porcelain tub. _

_ Tears were streaming down Dean’s cheeks as he pleaded with his dad to stop, his vision obscured by hot, salty water as John’s muttering grew louder as he reached for the golden knobs of the bathtub and turned the cold tap on full force. Water gushed out of the pipe and gushed down into the tub as John whirled around, dragging Dean in front of him until his face was mere inches away from Dean’s own. His dad’s skin was slick with sweat from the summer heat, dark stubble gracing his chin after days of not shaving, his latte colored eyes dancing wildly in his head as Dean wrinkled his nose at the sickly sweet smell that was radiating off of his dad. A mixture of alcohol and the stink of a man who’d gone a few days without a proper shower and considering how long the three Winchesters had been traveling on the road before stopping in Kansas for a few days, tracking down a potential “lead” their father had found the smell was to be expected. _

_ But there was also a stink of sickness, a smell that made Dean’s stomach gurgle inside of him as he remembered whispers the last time he and Sam had gotten to stay with Bobby. Whispers of Bobby telling John that “he was sick” and that there was no way in hell Bobby would allow John to take the boys with him again. Later that night John had packed up Dean and Sam’s things, snuck them out of Bobby’s house and into the car before all three of them were going to a little town in Arkansas.  _

_ The tub was a little more than half full when John shook Dean by the collar of his shirt, jostling him slightly. “We need to get you clean, Dean.” John’s eyes shimmered with a fevered gaze that had Dean opening his mouth to plead with his father to stop. Only for his world to tilt sideways as John lifted him up and dunked him headfirst into the water. His heavy hand pressing down on Dean’s head as the younger Winchester’s face breached the water, his wide eyes peering through the water of the tub, bubbles streaming from his mouth and nose as he struggled and kicked against the tub—against his father’s hold. Water splashed all around him and sloshed out of the tub, it splattered against John’s dirt flecked clothes, and onto the green tiles of the bathroom floor. _

_ John pulled Dean’s head out of the water. A gasp of fresh air pulling into his lungs before Dean was forced back under the water once more, his hands flailing and clawing at the tub as John seemed to hold his head under longer. Dean could faintly hear Sam banging on the bathroom door, his muffled cries of Dean’s name and their dad’s faintly registering to his ears. _

_ His lungs were burning inside of his chest, his fingers digging into the side of the tub before he was wrenched upwards and deposited onto his feet on the bathroom floor. Shaking like a leaf caught up in an autumnal gust.  _

_ He was shaking even harder, his wet hair plastered against his forehead, the upper half of his shirt soaking wet with water and his eyes blown wide as John pulled him into a chest crushing hug. “I’m so sorry Dean,” John murmured into his ear in what sounded like a moment of lucidity. His hand stroked the back of Dean’s sopping wet head. “I’m so sorry, Dad, just needed you to get clean. I only did it to get you clean, Dean.” John continued to stroke the back of his head. Even as Dean sobbed wildly against him. “I love you, Dean. I did this because I love you.” _

_ Dean sobbed even harder. The sound of his wailing mixing with Sam’s cries until he could no longer differentiate between them… _

**Present Day**

Curled up on the bathroom floor, wet tears trailed down Dean’s cheeks as he suddenly became cognizant to the rattling of his bathroom door. Sam banged his fist against the wood. “Dean! Dean, come on open the door!”

Rising to his feet, Dean brushed the tears off of his cheeks, unlocked the bathroom door and threw it open, alarming Sam who stood on the other side.

“Dean, you okay?” Dean ignored him, instead, pushing past him and heading toward the kitchen. Sam followed closely behind him.

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbled as he threw open the fridge door and riffled through it, plucking out a cold bottle of beer before slamming the door shut.

“You don’t look fine,” Sam hissed, staring pointedly at the beer in Dean’s hands. “And you’re clearly not getting better.”

“I’m fine, Sam!” Dean shouted pointedly, glaring at his brother as he popped the top off of his beer. He took a hard swig of it, “What do you want me to say?”

“Dean, I want you to get help!” Throwing his arms up in the air, Sam sighed worriedly. He gestured to Dean’s sweaty and clammy appearance. “Look at you! You’re not eating healthy, you have a panic attack and the first thing you go for is a beer!” Sam rakes a hand through his hair.

“Sam, drop it,” Dean growls, his eyebrows pinching together as he downed the rest of his beer and reached into the fridge for another.

“No!” Sam shook his head sharply. “I’m not dropping this until you go see someone to get through your issues.”

“I don’t have issues!”

Cocking his head to the side, Sam glared at Dean as if he was trying to argue that the sky wasn’t real. “You don’t have issues!? Dean, Dad fucked up our lives! He fucked over mine _ — _ ” Sam jerked a thumb at his chest before pointing sharply at Dean. “ _ — _ and he fucked over yours.”

Swallowing a sharp swig of his beer, Dean glared at his brother. “Take it back, Sam.” He whispered harshly. “Dad was different, but he was a good man.”

“What fucking part of dragging kids around different states, through different towns on the hunt for “demons” was being a good father?” Sam cried out, the hazel ring in the center of two blue-green seas seemed to constrict as Sam’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Dad was out of his mind, chasing things that didn’t exist after mom died.”

“It’s what he believed,” Dean argued, his eyes narrowing and his grip on his bottle of beer tightening.

“Just like he believed it was good giving a nine-year-old a .45 because I told him there was a monster in my closet?”

“Yea and there’s never a better age to confront your problems,” Dean growled, jerking his bottle in Sam’s direction causing the younger Winchester to scoff incredulously.

“With a gun, Dean!? Do you even hear yourself right now? We never got to have a normal childhood we were raised like warriors.”

“You know what, Sammy! Maybe we were, but we came out fine didn’t we.”

Sam scoffed, unable to believe the words that were coming out of his brother’s mouth. “So, if it was someone like Claire, you’d be fine with giving her a gun to confront the monster hiding in her closet?”

“Don’t you dare bring her up,” Dean growled, pointing a single finger at Sam. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Don’t I dare what? Don’t I dare drag Claire into this? Because she’s different from us when we were kids? Because she has a normal dad who’s willing to ensure that she remains healthy, safe, and doesn’t drag her on insane quests. Why do you think it was okay for us?”

“Because we turned out fine, Sam!”

Eyes blown wide, Sam stared at his brother, his mouth wide open, shock flooding his system. “Dean...are you serious!? We didn’t turn out fine. I didn’t turn out fine. Fine isn’t the reason I broke up with Jessica!” Sam slammed his hands down onto the kitchen island in front of him. The loud smack reverberated around the room. “You know why I did? Because every time I shut my eyes, I thought Jessica was going to end up like mom. I broke up with Jessica because I felt like no one could understand me. What about you Dean? Because of what Dad did to you, you’re so afraid to admit that you’re _ — _ ”

Sam blinked, the sound of shattering glass radiating in his ears, the feeling of fists bunching up the collar of his shirt and the air being forced out of his lungs as he found himself being slammed against the wall. Shards of glass decorated the kitchen floor, beer oozing across the wood.

Sam sniffed sharply in anger as he stared into the burning rage of Dean’s eyes. Smacking his brother’s fists away from the collar of his shirt, Sam shook his head as if he and Dean had made their points. “I’m leaving,” he said sharply, grabbing up his jacket and keys, he made his way out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.

Leaving Dean standing in his kitchen by himself, the elder Winchester brother glanced down at the broken beer bottle on his floor. As if the spilled liquid would hold all the answers of life for him, his tongue darted out between his lips. Throwing open his fridge door he peered inside of it, where the beer sparkled with promise and comfort for him, reaching inside Dean grabbed another bottle and lost himself in the liquid comfort that it brought him.

**March 14, 2005**

Dean was bent over the hood of a car, peering down at the shot engine beneath him. He could hear in the distance someone calling his name. Lifting his head up, Dean turned around and was surprised to see someone standing near the garage that he hadn’t been expecting.

“Castiel?” Hurriedly, Dean tried to wipe as much of the oil off of his hands that he could from the towel hanging out of the pocket of his jumpsuit. Walking over to the dark-haired man, who was wearing a pair of dark blue scrubs with cartoon puppies on the top that complimented his eyes, Dean couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face with every single step. “What are you doing here?”

Castiel jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where his Ford Fiesta was parked. “My car was acting a little odd this morning, but I decided to get it checked since I have a long lunch break.”

That made Dean’s eyebrows raise. “At our garage?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed with a nod.

“...Even though our garage is an hour away from the hospital?”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Castiel mimicked the smile on Dean’s face. “Your garage was the closest one.”

Dean could smell a lie a mile away when he knew one. Knowing damn well that there were several other garages that were closer to the hospital than the one he worked at.

“What are you doing right now?”

“About to grab something for lunch.”

Flashing him a grin that exposed the whites of his teeth, Castiel glanced back at his parked car. “I would offer to grab lunch with you, but…”

“I can have Garth look at your car for you,” Dean chuckled, pointing to a skinnier man with ratty brown hair looking over a Honda. Turning, Dean cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at Garth to look over the parked Ford Fiesta and that he was going to lunch. Garth gave him a thumbs-up as Dean turned back to face Castiel.

“What should we get for lunch?” He asked.

Tapping a finger against his jaw, Castiel pointed at Dean. “How about a burger?”

“A burger? Really?” Dean’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You’re not going to tell me its bad for my arteries?”

“Listen, you assbutt.”

Bursting out laughing, if it was possible Dean’s eyebrows raised even more nearly disappearing into his hairline. “Really? Alright, there’s a burger joint down the block, they make the best burgers in the area.”

Together, Castiel and Dean made their way down to The Smokin’ Cow; it was a rather small burger place that could only fit 20 people inside, but they had a couple of tables and chairs outside that Dean and Castiel took their food to once they got their orders.

Dean all but let out a moan of pleasure as he unwrapped his grease-soaked burger, the smell of bacon and bbq sauce tickling his nose as he bit down into the two burger patties topped with cheddar cheese and slabs of bacon poking out between the patties. It was a bomb of flavor in Dean’s mouth; a bomb that exploded causing Dean to tip his head back in appreciation.

“That good, huh?” Castiel questioned Dean as the man wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. His mouth full of delicious cow meat, Dean nodded, chewing enthusiastically on the food in his mouth, only stopping when Castiel unwrapped his own burger _ — _ a double smash burger with caramelized onions and the inhouse mayo and cheddar cheese _ — _ Dean watched him bite into it. The way the corners of his eyes wrinkled in delight, the way his ocean blue eyes brightened; seemed to sparkle beneath the Californian sun.

Dean could feel something tugging at his chest. An invisible emotion with no name that he cleared away with a sharp cough. “It’s good, isn’t it?” 

Castiel nodded his head sharply, using his napkin to wipe away the grease that dribbled from his bottom lip. “I’m so glad you talked me into this.” Reaching out, Castiel took a swig of his bottle of vanilla coke.

Feeling awkward, Dean avoided Castiel’s gaze to take a sip of his own drink. “So,” Dean began, setting the glass bottle down, “what made you want to be a doctor?”

Castiel hummed at that, “I’m really good with my hands.” Dean snorted at the double entendre, causing Castiel to roll his eyes with a soft glare at the man that conveyed,  _ you know I didn’t mean it like that you ass _ . “Besides,” Castiel continued, “there’s something nice about using my knowledge to help heal others. What about you though? What made you want to be a mechanic?”

Dean’s eyes lit up that as he told Castiel all about how growing up his favorite thing was cars. His hazel-green eyes sparkled with delight as he reminisced about this really beautiful ‘67 Chevrolet Impala that his dad had when he grew up as a kid. It was sleek black with crisp lines, a 327 Engine and a Four Barrel Carburetor. Stories of how he and Sam had carved their initials in the rear window deck, how when Sam was little he had jammed a miniature army man into the ashtray or how Dean had shoved a lego block into the passenger vent. That no matter how hard his dad tried to get it out, he had eventually given up, only to ruffle Dean’s hair. How there were some days where he, Sam, and their dad would just drive out at night to an open field, recline back onto the hood of the car and watch the twinkle of the stars above them.

How the doors squeaked no matter how much oil they had used on it.

Throughout his recollection and love for cars from his childhood, Castiel softly smiled at Dean. The corners of his mouth crinkling and his eyes softening as Dean lost himself in telling Castiel about his dad’s car, about how he wished he could track it down and have it as his own today. Dean was so caught up in his recollection that he hardly noticed how Castiel slowly reached across the table to touch the back of his hand with the tips of his fingers.

His cheeks heated up, a light sprinkling of pink decorating them as he took a swig of his drink, his mouth suddenly dry in the midst of his story. 

The moment was almost magical between the two men, only for it to be cut short by the high pitched chirp of the pager clipped to Castiel’s waistband. “Shit,” Castiel cursed, crumpling his empty burger wrapper as Dean held out his hand for Castiel to not worry about it and cleared away their trash. 

Taking a glance at his pager, Castiel grumbled, “They need me back at work. Apparently a patient’s pacemaker is giving him trouble and they need someone to take a look at it.”

Giving him a sharp nod, Dean offered to walk him back to the garage. They headed back together, where Garth immediately came up to them both, wiping his hands on a dirty, oily rag.

“I checked your car over,” Garth told Castiel, a slight Wisconsin twang to his words, “not too certain what’s wrong with it, but if you want you can leave it at the garage overnight, we can probably do some more tests on it to see what’s wrong.”

“I kind of need the car for work and my kid.” Castiel scratched the back of his neck. His lips pursed out as he contemplated his options.

“Hey,” Dean tapped on Castiel’s arm, “how about this? I can look at your car when you’re home or free, whenever, and do a thorough check on it.”

Taken aback by the kind offer, Castiel blinked at him. “Are you sure?”

Dean nodded at him. “It seriously won’t be a problem. Just tell me what time is good for you and I can be there.”

“Okay,” Castiel smiled at him, his eyes twinkling, “how does a homecooked meal sound in exchange for looking at my car? I promise to make something super special.”

“That sounds fine with me.”

“Does this Friday work for you? I have some errands to run in the morning, but if you can come around by noon…”

“I’ll be there on Friday,” Dean reassured him.

Castiel looked like he wanted to say something more, but nodded his head in thanks and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I should get back to the hospital.”

Dean told him goodbye, watching as Castiel hopped into his car and left the garage. A dopey smile stretched across Dean’s face as he waved goodbye to Castiel before he merged with oncoming traffic. His smile stiffened when he felt an arm around his shoulders, glancing to his right, he saw a hand hanging off of his shoulder. He turned his head to the left and stared at Garth’s smiling face, causing Garth’s own smile to fall as he slowly backed away from Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: February 28


	5. Beautiful Opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter is just one long day of pining between the boys with some sprinkles of Claire being cute (ಥ﹏ಥ); also fair warning next chapter opens up to a smut scene, so I just wanted to warn everyone in case you opened up the chapter next time in public and get slammed face first with a scene of Dean going to town on himself....

**March 18, 2005**

A couple of minutes to noon, Dean’s ‘67 Ford Mustang pulled up in front of Castiel Novak’s Bernal Heights home.

Castiel’s standing on his porch, his front door wide open as he watched Dean climb out of his car, open his passenger door to reach inside and grab his toolbox. The butterfly wind chime hanging from his porch was tinkling by the light spring breeze that disturbed it, letting out a beautiful chime that sounded like glass bells being stirred in the wind.

There’s a high pitched squeal that causes Castiel and Dean’s eyes to widen simultaneously as Claire pushes her way past her dad’s legs, runs across the porch, down the steps, and across the front lawn in light-up Sketchers sneakers making a path towards Dean, her tiny arms held out in front of her as she ran straight toward his leg and wrapped herself around it. “Dean!” She squealed, causing Dean to laugh as he bent down and set his toolbox down onto the grass. Slipping his hands underneath Claire’s armpits, he pulled her away and lifted her up into the air so that her legs were dangling.

“It’s good to see you too, kiddo.” Claire squealed as Dean spun her around, twisting on his feet as he swung Claire through the air. Giggling infectiously Claire’s pigtails fluttered around in the breeze. Wheezing from dizziness and laughter, Dean stopped spinning, setting Claire down on her feet as she wobbled for a few seconds, falling onto her butt, the grass squishing beneath the denim of her overalls where Pikachu was painted on the flap.

She began to babble a mile a minute, the lack of air in her lungs not stopping her like it did to Dean. 

Castiel was laughing as he came over to the both of them, he pulled Claire onto her feet. “See what I have to deal with every day?”

Now right side up, Claire pumped her tiny fists into the air. “Daddy is going to teach me how to ride my bike!”

Bending over, Dean placed his hands on his knees, his eyes widening slightly. “Really?”

“Yea,” Castiel pointed to his car that was parked in the driveway. “Do you mind? I’ll grab Claire’s bike, but just holler if you need me for anything.”

Dean nodded, grabbing up his toolbox, he made his way over to Castiel’s car, popped the hood, and took out the hood strut to keep the hood propped upright. He only glanced up after unlatching the hood of his toolbox when he heard Claire squeal in worry, he glanced up to see Castiel supporting her from behind. A purple helmet strapped to her head along with elbow and knee pads as her foot slipped off of a bicycle pedal and the bike leaned to one side.

He smiled to himself as he checked the engine, feeling quaint and calm despite the tiny niggling emotion in the back of his mind that was freaking out about it all; about how “normal” everything felt, in this quiet, suburban neighborhood mostly occupied by families and grandparents. Across the street there was a man and a woman, pushing a baby stroller as a golden retriever bounded beside them. Down the street there was a man with a baby strapped against his chest, Bon Jovi blasting in his ears as he jogged down the street, the baby dozing underneath the warm spring sun. The whole block was a picturesque photo of carefully manicured lawns, trimmed hedges and bushes, and flowers ready to bloom if they hadn’t already. An old lady who was Castiel’s next-door neighbor waved at him as she came out to check up on her tulips, hibiscus, and other perennials that she had planted.

The whole neighboorhood was that one safe photo of an advertisement that was slipped into your mailbox; a targeted ad for growing families who wanted to move somewhere to raise their kids in a safe environment. A group of children raced past Castiel’s house, water guns clutched in their hands as they proceeded to soak each other. 

In the distance Dean could hear the familiar notes of the ice cream truck as it slowly cruised down the street, stopping for anyone who flagged it down.

All of it felt normal. An emotion that Dean hadn’t known the taste of for much of his life, his eyes flickered to Castiel and Claire as he watched the dark-haired man jump up and down with joy, his hands rapidly clapping together as Claire pedaled on her own.

His own smile stretched across his face as he watched her for a few moments, his heart beating warmly in his chest as he watched the two of them. He swallowed thickly as he turned his attention back to the engine in front of him, his heart twisting inside of him as he realized that he felt “normal” being with the two of them; how he felt a warmth for Claire in a way that could only be described as parental.

Focusing on the engine, he lost himself in his work, his hands and arms becoming slick with grease and oil when he felt a gentle touch on his back, causing him to straighten upright, forgetting where he was for a moment, and smack the back of his head on the hood of his car.

He hissed in pain as Castiel’s squeak of, “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” filtered into his ears.

“It’s fine! It’s fine!” Dean insisted as he carefully extracted himself from under the hood of the vehicle. Reaching out, Castiel gingerly touched the back of Dean’s head, causing the Winchester to wince with pain from the tenderness of the skin. 

“Claire!” Castiel turned, cupping his left hand around his mouth, “come on! We’re going inside!”

Pedaling up the driveway, Claire hopped off her bike and followed her dad and Dean inside of the house. 

Heading into the kitchen, Castiel retrieved a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and handed them to Dean as he bent down to unstrap Claire’s elbow and knee pads and remove the helmet from her head. Dean watched the two of them as he pressed the frozen bag against the back of his head.

“Dean, do you have a boo-boo?” Glancing down at the young girl, Dean could see her ocean blue eyes shimmering with worry as she glanced at the bag of frozen peas he was holding to the back of his head. 

“Yea,” he nodded, “I just hit my head a little, but I’ll be fine.”

“When I get boo-boo’s, Daddy kisses them better for me,” spinning on the balls of her feet, Claire tugged on her dad’s hand, “Daddy! You should kiss Dean’s boo-boo better!”

Both men’s cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of pink as Castiel laughed—albeit a little nervously. “Why don’t we take a break for lunch?” Castiel suggested, “then I can get started on dinner after.”

Pumping her tiny fists into the air, Claire stomped her sneaker-clad feet against the kitchen tiles. “I want dinosaur chicken nuggets!”

Castiel smiled at that, raising an eyebrow as he glanced in Dean’s direction, his gaze a little apologetic for forcing Dean to eat chicken dinos for lunch. “Dean?”

With a humble smile, Dean shook his head. “It’s fine, I eat dinosaurs for breakfast. I think I can handle them for lunch.”

Claire gasped, her eyes going wide and shimmering as she stared up at Dean like he was a hero from a comic come to life. From the way her mouth hung wide open, Dean knew he was in for a hurricane of questions regarding his joke. “Dean, how do you eat dinosaurs for breakfast!?”

Leaning down, Dean smiled at her as Castiel headed to the freezer to pull out the frozen bag of chicken nuggets. “Come in closer,” Dean waved his hand in Claire’s direction, watching as the toddler obediently leaned in close. “Do you want to know my secret?”

She vigorously shook her head. Her fists clenched together as she stared at him expectantly.

“The secret is to eat them with syrup.”

She gasped, jerking backward as if Dean had just told her the very secrets of life. “Daddy, can I eat my chicken nuggets with shryup?” Digging his teeth into his bottom lip, Dean couldn’t help but mentally gush over Claire’s inability to pronounce the “syrup” correctly.

Lifting his gaze, Dean noticed Castiel giving him a look of  _ if you get my daughter addicted to this _ that he couldn’t help himself from laughing at.

Lunch quickly passed, with Claire finding the taste of dipping chicken nuggets into a tiny puddle of maple syrup to be the “best thing ever, better than rainbow flavored sparkles” or so she put it. 

Once lunch was over, all three of them headed outside with Claire drawing on the driveway with rainbow-colored chalk and Castiel standing next to his car, watching Dean work.

With a sigh, Dean stood up, wiping his hands, gratefully, on a towel that Castiel had provided him with. “Your car looks alright, the only thing that you seem to need is a new muffler and that’s going to cost you anywhere from $150 to $200 without labor costs and we’re not evening talking about how pricey high-end mufflers can fetch.”

Castiel whistled lowly to himself, sidling over to Dean’s side. His eyes were half-lidded as he reached out and slid his hand on top of Dean’s own that rested against the edge of the car. His voice dropped in pitch, a low rumble that reminded Dean of his favorite western action stars. “Is there anyone I can get a discount for that new muffler?”

Coughing sharply into his fist, Dean’s cheeks heated up as he looked away. Dean jerked the hand that Castiel was touching away, using it to scratch at the back of his neck. “I know a couple of people who owe me a bunch of favors who could probably get you a brand new muffler for pretty cheap. His cheeks felt warmer than the spring sun with the way Castiel was gazing at him like he was a brand new car coming off of the assembly line.

Stiffening, Dean sniffed at the air, the sharp scent of something burning catching on his nose. “Do you smell something burning?”

Castiel’s eyes blew wide. “Dean, can you watch Claire!?” Spinning on his heels, Castiel shouted, “shit!” as he ran off into the house.

“Ooh!” Claire yelled, “Daddy said a bad word!” Her tongue was stuck out of her mouth as she drew a misshapen caterpillar on the driveway with thick purple chalk. 

“Adults are allowed to say bad words sometimes!” Castiel called from the interior of the house.

“Dean!” Claire called from where she was squatting on the ground, “can you draw an umbrella for the caterpillar?”

“Sure,” Dean fixed her with a smile that exposed the whites of his teeth.

When Castiel finally came back out onto the porch after checking on the burning dinner, he stood on the pine boards, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched Dean shakily drawing the caterpillar holding a leaf umbrella with a piece of chalk. Claire laughed loudly as she smeared her chalk dust-covered hands on the side of Dean’s jeans, only to watch as Dean used his own chalk dusted thumb to smear a line of yellow across Claire’s cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. He smiled as he leaned against the supporting frame of the porch.

It was an hour later when Castiel called for Claire and Dean to come inside so both of them could wash up. Grabbing his tools and placing them back in his car, Dean scooped Claire up as Castiel cleaned up the driveway. The three of them walked back inside with Claire resting her head against Dean’s shoulders, her eyes drooping slightly as Dean murmured that she needed to wash her hands before taking a nap.

Dean helped her wash her hands in the kitchen before Castiel lead him to Claire’s room that was just next to the guest bedroom but across from the master bathroom.

Pushing the door open, Dean’s lips split into a smile as he drank in the buttercup yellow walls. Toys were neatly tucked away into cube-shaped storage bins that had been placed inside of shelves, there was a tent in one of the corners of the room that had fairy lights wrapped around the tip of it.

Dean placed Claire down on a set of pink sheets with butterflies printed on them as Castiel made work of taking off his daughter’s shoes and socks before tugging down the pillows to stuff them under his daughter’s neck. As Dean straightened up he noticed the single Batman poster hanging above Claire’s bed. He smirked at it as he and Castiel tiptoed out of the room.

“Alright,” Dean whispered as they walked down the hall. “What’s up with Claire’s love of Batman?”

Castiel snorted at that as he headed into the dining room where the alcohol cabinet was located, pointing to a bottle of whiskey, he waited until Dean nodded his head in affirmation before unlocking it and retrieving the bottle and headed into the kitchen. “I took her to the movies one day,” Castiel told him as he grabbed a pair of glasses and deposited balls of ice inside of them. “With the intention of seeing the Incredibles and accidentally ended up walking into the theater where they were showing Batman Returns instead. We ended up watching it and Claire fell in love with Batman ever since.”

Dean snorted at that, smiling at Castiel gratefully when the man handed him his glass of whiskey.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Dean asked as he took a seat on one of the barstools propped up against the kitchen island, slowly sipping on his whiskey. 

“What made you so interested in Batman? I saw the way you and Claire debated over ice cream, it was the only ever time she got to talk to someone who actually knew what she was talking about.”

“Well,” Dean started, the ice in his glass rattling slightly, “growing up my brother Sam was a bit of a nerd. You know, Star Wars, Star Trek that sort of thing.” He snorted fondly to himself as he remembered evenings of being forced to watch whatever nerdy show Sam was interested in when it was his brother’s turn to control the tv remote. “You don’t know how many evenings I had to hear about how cool the Tardis was.”

Sipping slowly on his whiskey, Castiel cocked his head to the side, his eyes carefully studying Dean. “And I take it that that wasn’t your sort of thing?”

“No,” Dean snorted, “never could get into that kind of stuff. Always found that Western’s and Batman was more of my thing. And that was the only nerd thing I could ever get into.”

“So the caped crusader was more your thing?” Castiel jerked his glass in Dean’s direction, causing the liquid in the glass to slosh against the sides before crashing back down over the ball of ice.

“Yea,” Dean nodded, taking a sip of his drink, “there’s something about Batman that I always liked. Like despite him being rich, he used his wealth and fortune to fight crime in Gotham, but that never stopped him from caring about trying to reform the villains you know?” Castiel nodded as if he understood what Dean was talking about. “Though,” Dean continued, “I always considered Jason Todd to be my favorite more than Batman.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows at the name. “Isn’t that Batman’s sidekick who becomes...Nightwing?”

That caused Dean to laugh, a sharp shake of his head confirming Castiel was wrong. “No,” Dean snorted, “he ends up becoming Red Hood after his death, sort of an anti-hero who mirrors everything Batman isn’t.”

“Really?”

“Yea,” Dean nodded, “he uses lethal weapons and force; he does everything Batman refuses to do in the comics.”

“Ah,” Castiel hummed, swirling his drink around in its glass as he tapped a finger against his cheek. “So the dutiful soldier who turns his back on his commander?”

Dean paused, the tip of his index finger smearing the condensation beading on the side of his glass. “I suppose so.”

“You know,” Castiel hummed, “they usually say our favorite character reveals a lot about us,” pushing away from the kitchen island where he’d been standing for much of their conversation, Castiel came around it to take one of the seats next to Dean. He smiled at the man, jerking his glass in his direction as he peered at him. “What do you think that says about you?”

Dean paused, his eyes slightly widening as he stared at Castiel, his mouth slightly open in shock that was soon replaced by his mouth snapping shut and a grunt of surprise rumbling out of his throat when he felt Castiel’s hand slide against his denim-covered knee.

It caused Dean to cough on his whiskey, his hand jerking the glass away from his mouth. Flecks of whiskey splattered against his lip as Castiel started to laugh causing Dean to laugh along with him.

By the time dinner rolled around, Castiel was pulling out chicken he had roasting in the oven when Claire walked into the kitchen. Her ponytails slightly messed up as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Dean helped Castiel take out plates, cutlery, and glasses to set the dining room table. As Castiel laded mashed potatoes, a pile of roasted peppers and broccoli, and roasted chicken onto their plates.

“Mmmm,” Dean groaned as he cut into a piece of chicken breast Castiel had placed onto his plate. “You seriously have to give me your recipes one day.”

“I really question what you eat on a typical day,” Castiel snorted as he helped cut Claire’s chicken thigh into small, manageable pieces. 

“Nothing as good as this,” Dean pointed his fork in his direction.

Dinner passed by quickly with polite conversation filled with movies that Dean had seen in his past and Castiel talking about pop culture references throughout his own childhood.

With dinner ending, Dean helped Castiel clean up as he reached into the freezer to pull out a tub of ice cream that he served to everyone. Once dessert had been polished off all three of them ended up in the living room, Shrek 2 playing on the tv after Castiel had popped in the VHS tape. 

They’d barely reach the part of the film where the Fairy Godmother was lecturing Harold, Fiona’s father, and the carriage they were in pulled up to Friar’s Fat Boy.

Claire was curled up against Dean’s right side, her head tucked against his ribs and her bony knees digging into the side of his thighs.

Castiel, who was drifting off to sleep, was woken up by Dean snoring in his sleep. A soft smile curved across his face as he watched Claire breathing softly against Dean’s side, Dean’s head reclined against the couch, his mouth slightly open and his chest softly rising and falling. His long eyelashes fluttered against the tip of his cheeks. His forehead was uncreased by typical worry lines, his eyes rapidly fluttering beneath eyelids.

His lips looked so soft and gentle as he slept; his features boy-like and untainted by the troubles of adult life. In Castiel’s mind, Dean looked cute and unfettered as he slept and he didn’t want to disturb Dean’s sleep. A smile stretching across Castiel’s face as Dean stirred from the midst of his sleep, a particularly loud snore wrenching him from the throes of a deep dream.

Blinking blearily, Dean glanced down at Claire who was tucked into his side. He glanced across the couch at Castiel who was gently smiling at him, his cheek resting against the palm of his hand. 

“What time is it?” Dean grumbled, his voice deep from sleep.

“It’s a little bit past eight.” 

Dean grumbled, pressing a hand against his face, dragging it down his face, he pressed the tips of his fingers against his right eye. He sighed deeply to himself, slowly sitting up so as not to disturb a sleeping Claire. 

“I think I’m going to head home,” Dean grumbled.

“I’ll see off after I put her to bed.”

Both of them got up from the couch, with Castiel lifting Claire into his arms so that he could bring her to her bedroom.

Dean was standing in the hallway when Castiel finally returned. “I had fun tonight,” Dean told him, his hands shoved into his pockets as Castiel undid the locks on the front door.

“I did too,” Castiel chuckled, “and I’m sure if Claire was awake she’d say the same thing.” They stood there, silently, in the hallway neither of them saying anything, just enjoying the long strip of silence between them.

“Well,” Dean said with a little jerk of his head, “I guess I should be going.”

“Right,” Castiel opened the front door, watching wistfully as Dean stepped out onto the porch, patting the sides of his jeans as he smiled at Castiel and simply stood awkwardly on the porch. 

The two of them stared at each other, silence their third companion as Castiel peered at Dean with darkened and half-lidded eyes. His gaze kept flickering to Dean’s lips as if he was planning on kissing him, but with a sharp smile, Castiel waved at him. “You should probably get home before it gets any later.”

“Right,” Dean nodded, “I guess...I’ll see you around?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, g’night Castiel.”

“Night, Dean.” Dean watched as Castiel closed the front door before setting off down the porch steps and across the lawn, guided by the fool moon shining above his head. Climbing into his car, Dean groaned smacking his forehead against the wheel of his car.

“Why do you got to be such an idiot Dean Winchester?” Dean asked himself as inside the Novak family home Castiel found himself considering the same thing.

As soon as the front door had been closed, Castiel groaned, letting the back of his head fall backward. His head smacking against the thick wood with a dull thunk, reaching up he smacked his palm against his forehead and groaned against, his back sliding against the door until he was squatting against it.

“Why didn’t you just kiss him, Castiel?” 

He smacked his forehead against the door again another groan pulling itself from his lips as Castiel contemplated the “what if’s?” of a beautiful opportunity that had just passed him by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: March 13 
> 
> (Which funny enough falls on a Friday so that makes it Friday te 13th; also hint hint, but if you look close enough there's a special hint for a chapter I have planned out next year for Overcome)


	6. Faces of the Past

**April 1, 2005**

Reclined back against the couch, Dean softly groaned, his sweatpants were pulled down so that the waistband was stretched around his knees. His left hand was gently pressed against his abdomen, his right softly gripping his aching, rigid cock. Palm slick with lube he focused on the sounds coming from his tv. The soft sounds of a woman moaning as the pizza boy railed into her from behind.

“Harder! Harder!” She cried out, the strands of her blonde hair tickling her upper back as a hard cock wrapped up in a pink condom slammed into her pussy again and again; the intoxicating sound of skin slapping against wet skin was a sound that dug itself into Dean’s brain, despite the fact that his attention had long ago drifted away from the porn he’d popped into his DVD player.

It was something generic. A girl who’d ordered a pizza, but had no way of paying.

“Can’t I pay some other way? I’m  _ really _ hungry.” The actress on-screen had let out with a breathy, Valley Hill accent. Her tits pushed up in the bra she wore, the thong she had on barely covering anything.

It was the type of porn Dean generally liked, something cheesy with a shitty plot that cared more about the sex scenes rather than telling a story. But there Dean was, his head resting against the armrest of the couch, his lube slick hand jerking his cock up and down, thumb swiping across the bead of precum that beaded on the head. Lips parting as a soft gasp was drawn out of them.

No, somewhere—and Dean wasn’t sure when—his thoughts had turned away from the porn and instead was feasting on a plethora of images tucked away in his spank bank. Pamela Anderson on the cover of Playboy popped into his mind, her bare breasts exposed amongst chains of gold that adorned her body. Dean groaned softly, he shivered as cold air ghosted over the surface of his teeth. His hand gripped his cock harder; the need to draw this out long and slow-burning in his veins.

He sank down into his favorite fantasy. Pamela Anderson strewn across a blanket on the lush grass in the middle of a clearing. Moonlight rained down upon her body, her perky breasts pushed up into the air as she arched her back slightly.

Plush lips that were meant for kissing were pursed at him. “Kiss me, Dean,” she harshly whispered as Dean lowered himself down, his cock throbbing in both his fantasy and in his tight grip.

Slowly moving his hand as beads of precum oozed down his shaft. The noises drifting from his tv sounded faint to his ears.

With his lips parted Dean pressed them against Pamela’s. Her lips as soft as clouds as Dean melted above her, pleasure burned in his veins as her lips parted, her tongue darting into his mouth to suck upon it. Shivering, Dean’s eyes snapped open the illusion broken for a moment as he reached for the bottle of lube on the coffee table, grabbing it to squirt a dollop upon the head of his cock.

He sighed, settling back into the fantasy as he placed the lube back onto the table and shut his eyes. He was coming undone above her, plush lips bruising his own that was quickly swelling from the heated nature of their kiss. His right hand went from her breast, only for fantasy Dean and real Dean’s brows to pinch together in confusion as they found not the pillow mound of flesh that indicated a breast, but a more sturdier mound of the pectoral muscle.

Fantasy Dean pulled back away from the kiss, a soft groan of displeasure at the contact ringing in his ears as Dean stared down at the man before him.

Castiel was reclined against the blanket. Ocean blue eyes dark with lust, his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink. He wore a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a pair of dark slacks. An outfit that was similar to the one that Dean had seen him wear before church. Above him, Dean shivered as he watched Castiel—fantasy Castiel he had to fiercely remind himself—raise his arms up at Dean as if beckoning him to sink back down.

“Kiss me, Dean.” Castiel’s deep voice rumbled beneath him; his words dripping with lust as Dean’s cock seemed to throb from the memory of Castiel’s voice alone.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed out, dragging his hand up his cock and twisting his wrist in a particular manner he liked when he reached the hand. A sharp groan tore through him, his hips jerking up into the air slightly. His mind was warring with him.

To end the fantasy or let it run its course?

The latter seemed to win as Dean leaned back down, letting Castiel’s arms wrap around his shoulders. Their lips clashing together were Dean was surprised to learn in the fantasy that they were as soft as he thought they’d be. Their lips parted together in a hungry dance, tongues slipping into wet caverns of heat as Castiel’s left hand slid upwards to tangle itself into the strands of Dean’s hair. Slightly tugging on it in a way that Dean thought would be annoying, but only served to make the heat pooling in his groin a little hotter.

Fantasy Castiel moaned as Dean’s thumb brushed against his clothed nipple. In their kiss Dean chuckled as Castiel sucked his tongue into his mouth, before pulling away from kiss swollen lips to attack a patch of sensitive skin just below Dean’s jaw that always made him curl his toes in a particular manner, his eyes rolling in his head as he groaned. “Oh God,” Dean moaned, earning him a particularly throaty chuckle from Castiel in his fantasy.

“God isn’t here Dean,” Castiel breathed into the shell of his ear, “it’s only me.”

Whining Dean rolled his clothed hips against Castiel’s own, a hiss of pleasure pulling itself from both of their lips as Castiel arched his hips up to repeat the action. “You want to cum like this?” Castiel whispered in Dean’s ear.

On the couch Dean shivered, the voice sounding so real and close as his hand sped up on jerking his cock. His grip tightened, his lips parted as his chest rose and fell, a mixture of moans and gasps of air curling from his lips.

In his fantasy Castiel’s right hand slid down to Dean’s hip, he gripped it tightly as he spread his legs a little wider for Dean to get a comfortable angle so that he could grind their crotches together. 

Dean was like a dog in heat as he pressed his hardened bulge against Castiel’s own; the delicious contact of heat and friction causing both men to cry out.

Castiel’s grip was firm, his nails digging into Deans’ pelvis as Dean ground their bulges together in a steady pace, that pace was soon abandoned by the wild desire of passion as Dean’s grinding became wild and unsteady.

“Fuck!” Castiel cried out, letting his head fall back against the blanket. “Just like that Dean! That’s what you want isn’t it, to make me cum in my pants like I’m some desperate, horny teen.”

Castiel brought his head up to nip at Dean’s jaw with his teeth, drawing a groan of pure lust out of Dean’s throat as he sped up his hand movements on the couch. The lines blurring between fantasy and reality when Dean’s hips quivered up from the couch, his breath coming out in faster puffs, his hand that was freeing digging into the fabric of the couch.

“Come on, Dean!” The Castiel in his fantasy groaned, sinking his teeth into the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder, sucking on the skin beneath it to leave a dark bruise behind. “Come on, make me cum, make me cum like you’ve dreamt about it.” He groaned as Dean’s hips ground down harder into his own. Their legs shaking as Dean cursed, his back arching and the muscles going taught. His lips were parted as a steady groan fell from them, growing louder by the second until it became shaky and Dean was crying out as ropes of hot cum dribbled out of his cock and down the shaft, curling around the back of his hand as in his fantasy Castiel’s lips were parted as a particularly loud gasp signaled his own crescendo of orgasm. His pants darkening as a stain of liquid spread across them.

In the lingering remnants of his fantasy Castiel’s eyes snapped open, his warm hand caressing Dean’s cheeks as he wearily smiled at him. “Just admit it, Dean.” Fantasy Castiel whispered against his swollen lips. “Just admit it to yourself.”

On the couch, Dean’s eyes snapped open, his cum cooling against the back of his hand. His screen pitch black, the credits long having come and gone.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered to himself, headlights from a car out on the street shining through his apartment window, briefly illuminating the walls in a bright yellow glow. “Fuck.”

**April 2, 2005**

Standing in the middle of a McDonald’s before the breakfast rush, Dean was staring up at the menu trying to decide whether he wanted to get a Sausage McMuffin with an egg or a Sausage, Egg, and Cheese McGriddles. He was so lost in his choice, stroking his jaw with his fingers when he was startled by hearing a woman’s voice from behind him calling out his name.

“Dean?”

Turning around Dean came face to face with a black woman who was staring at him expectantly. Her dark brown curls tumbled wildly around her before reaching her shoulders, dark maroon lipstick was smeared across her lips. She wore a leather jacket with skin tight jeans that showed off her ass and more a second Dean’s eyebrows pinched together as he struggled to recollect if he knew a woman who looked to appear on some level like a superstar, considering the looks some of the patrons were giving her, Dean suspected that she might be.

“Sorry, but do I know you?” Dean finally asked her.

She jerked her head back slightly, a playful smile gracing her face. “Are you really playing right now, Dean Winchester? Remember me?” He shook his head at her. “Really? Does Athens, Ohio ring a bell?” 

The corners of his mouth wrinkling, Dean wracked his memory for her face. Athens, Ohio ringing a familiar bell as he remembered attending a college up there for a year before dropping out.

His eyes widened with familiarity as he finally recognized who she was. “Cassie Robinson?”

“The one and the only,” she snorted, reaching out to playfully smack him on the arm. “It took you long enough to recognize me.”

“Yeah well, you got…”

“Hotter?” She offered, her grin widening.

“I was going to say older.”

She snorted, crossing her arms in front of her as she glanced him up and down. “God, Dean Winchester it’s been...seven long years. How are you?”

A cashier called for Dean’s attention, forcing him to swivel slightly, but he turned back to Cassie. “What are you doing right now? Feel like catching up.”

“I’m off today. And yea it’s been a long time, I want to hear how you’ve been, what’s been going in your life.”

Dean hurriedly ordered his food, Cassie doing the same. The two of them ended up at a table with Cassie slathering her fries in ketchup as she smiled at Dean. “So how’s life been treating you, Dean?”

“It’s been good. I work as a mechanic.” He paused to bite into his breakfast sandwich as Cassie seemed to nod expectantly at that tidbit of information.

“I always remembered you being good with cars. You helped me when I stalled my engine.”

“Yea,” Dean laughed, “what about you, though? What are you doing now?”

“I work as a news anchor for NBC. Though you only get to see my pretty face late at night when we get all the juicy stuff.”

“Really?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up, “Cassie that sounds amazing! Congratulations.” That made sense, Dean thought to himself as a few customers here and there snapped pictures of Cassie from far away like the local celebrity that she was.

They caught up in the McDonald’s. Catching up on years of history that had passed between them when Dean had left Ohio permanently. 

Their meals finished, Dean and Cassie went out into the street, Cassie glanced at his car, her fingers drumming against her jeans.

“So,” Cassie began, humming slightly, “why don’t you take me back to your place.” It wasn’t much of a suggestion, more like a command with the half-lidded, lustful look that she was giving him.

“Yeah,” Dean choked out with very little hesitation on his part. By the time they reached Dean’s apartment, hell even made it into the building, Cassie was pawing at Dean’s jacket, eager to get it off as she eagerly pressed her lips against his.

“W—wait, d—door,” Dean managed to stutter out as he fumbled in his jeans for the keys to his apartment. Shoving the key into the lock, he twisted it, his eyes widening in surprise when Cassie reached up to grab the collar of his jacket.

Despite her smaller and thinner stature, she forced Dean into the apartment, pushing him up against the wall as she stood up on her tiptoes to smash their lips together in a brutal kiss that was more tongue and teeth than lips. 

“Do you still like it rough?” She whispered into the shell of his ear, her hands already making quick work of his belt buckle.

A sharp nod from him had her asking where his bedroom was when he pointed it out she guided him into the bedroom and pushed him back onto his bed.

“Good,” Casie grinned coquettishly at him, she pulled her shirt up over her head—her jacket having been shed somewhere in the living room—and tossed it onto the floor, making quick work of her bra. The garment fell onto the floor, letting her breasts fall loosely against her chest. “Because I’m about to give you the time of your life.” 

Launching herself onto the bed, it was easy for Dean to let himself fall back and enjoy the ride. Cassie was, in the most easily describable terms, a tornado in bed. It was how a majority of the women Dean had slept within his life had been like—were like—they’d taken control in bed; taken their fill. Let Dean lie back as they’d done most of the work and ridden him into ecstasy. 

When Cassie was done, both of them were reclined against his bed. His bedsheet crumpled up and used to cover their lower halves. Her curly hair was spread out around her, both of them basking in the afterglow of their orgasms.

It was a peaceful lull that came after sex. One that Dean basked in, only to have it broken by Cassie’s question.

“So are you still like  _ that _ , Dean?”

The question caused him to turn his head, his eyebrows pinched at her expressionless face. “Like what?”

“Like  _ that _ .” She sighed exasperatedly, annoyed as if he was playing dumb with her line of question, despite the fact that he genuinely didn’t know what she was talking about.

But he did know. It was a question she had asked him nearly seven years ago. A question that he honestly hadn’t dwelled much on, but here she was asking it all over again.

**Seven Years Ago**

_ “What do you want to do, y’know, once all of this is over?” Cassie, reclined up against the ridiculous number of pillows she had in her bed stared expectantly at Dean. _

_ She lived in a 2 bedroom apartment just off-campus. Her roommate had gone to visit her parents for the weekend so the two of them had the whole place to themselves for two days and Dean was just grateful to get out of the dorms.  _

_ Dean, who had his arms tucked beneath his head as he basked in the afterglow of sex, shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.” He answered truthfully. “I might travel, you know see the sights, that sort of thing.” _

_ Cassie paused, picking at a stray thread of fabric as she puckered her lips. “Don’t you want to do more than that?” She asked him. “Don’t you want to be more than just a traveler?” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “Like how I’m studying so that one day I can become a news anchor. What do you want to do with your degree?” _

_ He wrinkled his nose at her words; hated how she wrapped her question up so neatly so that there was a thread of pity surrounding it. Sure, he didn’t have his choice of study picked out like so many other kids on campus yet _ — _ he’d come in undecided _ — _ and sure the year was almost over, but it’s not like he knew what he wanted to do. He didn’t even know if college was something he wanted to do, exactly. He knew it was something Bobby had wanted for him and Sam, but now...now he wasn’t so sure. _

_ He wasn’t sure of anything. _

_ “I don’t know,” Dean answered again, letting silence envelope the both of them. _

_ Cassie’s voice sounded tiny when she asked her next question. “Dean?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “...Are you gay?” _

_ Dean didn’t say anything at first, just lied back against her bed in shock until he burst out in nervous laughter. “What are you talking about?” _

_ Cassie shrugged her shoulders, pressing her cheek against her knees. “I mean. Do you like guys? Like Jenna’s friend _ — _ ” Dean knew who she was talking about, her roommate’s friend, Mark. He was a senior who was gay and didn’t give a damn who knew it. He’d flirted hard with a few guys at a party he and his roommates had thrown a few weekends ago; he’d even spent a half hour flirting with Dean who’d gotten a free rum and coke out of it. “ _ — _ be honest with me, Dean. I won’t be mad.” _

_ For a brief second, Dean’s eyes flickered over to study Cassie’s face. Her face was mostly hidden by the thick curls of her hair, so he couldn’t see it. But he’d spent so much time with her to know how she was like. She didn’t seem weird around Mark. _

_ Hell she liked him enough to hang around him as much as Jenna did, even though Mark and Cassie had very little in common in terms of interests. He’d seen the way she’d defended Mark when some dudes in her communications class had called him a number of slurs under their breaths. _

_ Swallowing thickly, Dean stared at the ceiling. “I think...I like both?” _

_ It must have been the wrong thing to say. Cassie’s head lifted off of her knee so fast that Dean thought he said something wrong. She was quiet, however, her face wrinkled with emotion as she stared into the distance.  _

_ “What do you mean?” She asked him quietly. _

_ “...I like both...I like men and women.” _

_ “....At the same time?” _

_ “Yea.” _

_ She hadn’t said much after that. Just fallen back into silence. Cassie fell silent again, seemingly unpleased by Dean’s lack of an answer. It was so silent that Dean had half a mind to roll over onto his side just to check if she had fallen asleep. _

_ Instead, she shot up in bed, quickly snatching up his clothes she had tossed them at him and cried for him to get out of her apartment. _

_ “Get out!” She had screeched at him. _

_ He’d been so stunned by her sudden switch in behavior that he had sat in her bed, too stunned to move. “What?” He had asked her feebly. _

_ “That’s not normal!” She shook her head, her hands pressed against the side of her face. “Just get out!” She’d pointed to the door. “People like that just don’t exist.” She’d hissed. _

_ It’d shaken Dean to his very core. _

_ Dean had slipped out of her apartment after that. He didn’t return. Didn’t really speak much to Cassie after it and then they had summer break a few weeks later. _

_ After that Dean had never come back. _

**Present Day**

Dean didn’t know what to say. His lips parted, waiting for a letter, a noise, or even a sound to come out but he couldn’t think of anything.

There was a sharp knock on Dean’s door that forced him out of bed. Quickly finding his boxers, Dean tugged them on and was hopping toward the front door just as he zipped up his jeans. Throwing it open he was surprised to find Castiel standing in the hallway. Another pie resting in his hands.

“I got fancy this time,” Castiel said in lieu of a greeting. “It’s a no-bake oreo pie.”

“Dean, who is that?”

Turning his head, Dean stared behind him watching as Cassie walked into the living room wearing his shirt that he’d discarded onto the floor. The hem of it just rested against her thighs. She stopped, spying Castiel at the door. The doctor also noticed the girl who’d just walked out of Dean’s bedroom.

Luckily Dean didn’t turn quickly enough to see the way the smile on Castiel’s face faltered. “Um, hello!” Castiel called out to Cassie who gave him an odd little wave. His eyes flickering to Dean. “Is this a bad time, Dean?”

“It kind of is,” Dean nervously scratched at the back of his neck, “but thanks for the pie. I’ll eat it later, tell Claire I said hi, alright?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Castiel flashed him a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before handing over the pie. He stood in front of the door nervously. “I’ll uh, see you around, Dean.”

Dean nodded at him, shutting the front door quickly as he headed into the kitchen to place the pie into the fridge.

Cassie followed after him, her arms crossed over her chest. When Dean stood up and turned around he found her glaring at him, like she hoped to melt him straight into the ground. “What?”

“Are you gay, Dean?” 

“Jesus Christ! This again?”

“Just answer the question, Dean,” she snapped briskly at him.

He was taken aback by the question. “No! Alright, what the fuck? Where in the hell did that question even come from?”

“No, Dean, we need to seriously talk.” Holding her hands out in front of herself, Cassie’s eyes burned with an anger that Dean found himself, unfortunately facing the barrel of. “Just be straight with me. Are. You. Gay?”

“Cassie, no.”

“Fine, what are you then?”

Dean hated the way she fucking said that question. He could taste it. The way it almost made him sound inhuman to her.

He doesn’t answer, instead, he shakes his head and pleads with her to drop the question.

“Dean. Tell me, do you even like women?”

“Of course I like women!” Dean scoffs, using his hand to gesture at her. “If I didn’t like women, do you think I’d have slept with you.”

Her eyes narrowed at his answer. She studied him carefully and he knew from the glint in her eyes that she wasn’t 100% convinced by his answer. 

“So what am I to you then? Am I just some beard for you to wear? One last booty call for you to tap before you switch over to playing for the other team? Am I something to make you feel normal for the day, Dean?”

“Cassie, just drop the subject, please. I don’t know where all of this drama is suddenly coming from.”

“No,” Cassie hissed, a woman who wouldn’t be denied. “I saw how you stared at that guy that showed up here! You looked at him like he was the tastiest snack in the whole room! Like even if you had a million snacks in this room, he’d still be the knock-off brand of cheese puffs that you’d munch on! God!” She hissed, pressing her hands to her temple. “I’m such a fucking idiot for sleeping with you again!”

She whirled on her feet, already tearing Dean’s shirt off of her body, tossing it down onto the floor as she stomped around his apartment picking up her own clothes and wiggling her way back into them.

Dean followed her closely. “Come on, Cassie, just stay we can talk about this.”

“No,” she hissed, buttoning up her jeans, “You know what? Fuck you, Dean.” She whirled around on him once she finally had her jacket on, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I’m not some piece of ass you can just tap when you’re too afraid to admit that you’re gay.”

“I’m not gay,” Dean growled in her face. 

“Then you clearly can’t choose,” she scoffed, jerking her head back to pull up the zipper on her jacket. “Either go be with a man or go be with me. Either way, when you can choose, call me. If you can’t...lose my number.” 

She shoved her feet into her shoes. Pausing at the front door to whirl around and glare at him. “There’s no such thing as liking both at the same time, Dean.”

She’d gone through the front door and slammed it behind her before he even had time to respond.

**April 5, 2005**

Dean was picking at his steak in front of him with his fork.

His lack of appetite clearly noticed by Sam who stared at him with a concerned look upon his face. They’d made up after the fight they had, with Sam having invited Dean out to dinner on Tuesday night since Sam had argued that he wasn’t too busy since his professor had canceled an early morning class he usually had on Wednesday’s. So Sam could afford to eat dinner with Dean on a random day of the week.

“So…” Dean pushed a cut of steak through a smear of A1 sauce, “...I met up with Cassie again.”

Sam’s eyes widened at that. He only knew Cassie vaguely through some stuff that Dean had mentioned while he’d been in college and had never pressed about it when Dean dropped out in the summer. “Oh? How’d that go?”

His shoulders rose and fell, “She stormed out of my apartment.”

If Sam knew that Dean wasn’t giving him the whole truth he didn’t show it. “What? Why?”

Dean doesn’t say anything for some time when he finally does, he says, “Don’t know; she didn’t say.”

Sam silently looked down at the chicken Caprese salad on his plate. “Dean...was this about you being—?” Sam trails off, looking uncertain of whether he should finish the sentence.

“This about me being what? Sammy?” Dean snaps in the slightly crowded restaurant, his voice rising in pitch. “About me being a freak?” He says that part so loudly that other people in the restaurant have stopped eating and instead stared at Dean.

Slamming his fork down in disgust, Dean rises from the table and rushes out of the restaurant. 

Sam was chasing after Dean as he sped across the parking lot. Reaching out Sam grasped Dean’s arm, forcing him to turn around and face his brother. “You’re not a freak?” Sam hisses, his eyes going dark as he glared at his brother. “Dean, do you even hear yourself right now? You sound like Dad when he—when he—”

“God! Just say it Sam!” Dean laughs, shrugging Sam’s grip on his arm off. “Just fucking say it!”

“—when Dad drowned you,” Sam whispers, watching a dark, unnamed emotion flicker across Dean’s face. 

“Shut up,” Dean harshly whispers; a dark fire burning in his eyes, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” Sam scoffs, “Dean, I’m not the one who repressed half of their own childhood; who pretends like Dad was actually a pretty decent guy when in all actuality he was an abusive, piece of shit.”

“We had a normal childhood, Sam,” Dean argues, his hands curling into fists as his anger bubbled beneath his veins.

“We never had a normal childhood until we lived with Bobby!” Sam cries out, “we weren’t children to Dad! We were warriors!” Sam jerkily motioned to Dean with his hands. “Dad is the sole reason why you’re so much as afraid to admit that you’re Bi—”

Sam’s eyes widened as Dean’s fist connected with the corner of his jaw, sending him spinning and sending him tumbled onto his side down onto the asphalt of the parking lot. “You don’t know a damn thing you’re talking about,” Dean hisses as he stands over Sam. “You don’t know a goddamn thing.”

“I know enough to know that you’re running away from your problems,” Sam hisses, glaring up at his brother, “just like you’ve been doing all of your life.” With a shake of his head, Sam rises to his feet, tenderly holding the spot on his jaw where Dean’s fist had connected with flesh and bone. “I’m done,” Sam whispers, “I’m done watching you drink yourself down a spiral until you’re blackout drunk as a way to cope with your issues. I’m tired of watching you pretend like our childhood was perfect when it wasn’t. I’m done, Dean.”

Dean watches as Sam walks across the parking lot, gets into his car and peels out and down the road only to disappear into the distance leaving Dean alone.

His breaths came heavily as he stood in the parking lot. By the time he gets into his car, he doesn’t realize that the tracks of wetness on his cheeks aren’t the splattering of rain that come hurtling down from the sky. Instead, as he reaches up to brush the wetness away, he finds that they’re his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hi, I'm a big dummy who forgot to put the update schedule at the end of the notes the first time around):
> 
> Next update: March 27


	7. In the Heat of the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Heat of the Morning is a reference to David Bowie's 1970 song of the same name.

**April 13, 2005**

The acrid, bleach-like scent of antiseptic filled Dean’s nose, competing alongside the cries and wails of pain that were coming through the thin door of the hospital room he was currently in—well more like Garth was currently in. Dean’s forest-green eyes flickered over to the bed where Garth was resting, cloaked in a hospital gown and delirious from the amount of painkillers they had to pump into him.

Dean was convinced the man was cursed considering this was Garth’s third hospital visit in two months. Dean had been the one to bring him to the hospital after somehow a perfectly brand new carjack had broken while Garth was working underneath a 2004 Suzuki Forenza that had shattered the bones in Garth’s left arm.

“Garth,” Dean called out to the heavily drugged mechanic who gave him a lopsided smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.”

“Bye-bye, Mr. Easter bunny!” Dean snorted to himself as he slipped out of Garth’s hospital room. The hallways of the hospital were bustling with activity; nurses attending to a bustling number of patients that had seemed to just come in during the time Dean was staying by Garth’s bedside.

“Dean!” 

Dean’s forehead wrinkled at the sound of a familiar voice calling out his name. Swiveling his head around, he came face to face with Castiel’s ocean blue eyes staring at him from down the hall. Panic slammed into Dean’s chest like a punch as he ripped his gaze away from Castiel and rushed down the hallway, even as Castiel yelled at him to wait and moved forward only for a nurse to block his path, a clipboard gripped tightly in her hand.

“Doctor Novak, there’s a patient with a pacemaker that’s acting up in bay one for you.”

Castiel let out a groan as he watched Dean’s retreating back disappearing between the bodies of patients and hospital staff. Begrudgingly, Castiel made his way to bay one even as Dean slipped away.

Guilt and shame swirled in Dean’s chest as he climbed into his car in the parking lot of the hospital. He didn’t know what to say to Castiel, the two hadn’t talked in weeks after Castiel had come over the apartment and seen Cassie walking out into the hall wearing nothing more than Dean’s shirt.

And it’s not like Castiel for his part hadn’t tried to contact Dean, not from the litany of unanswered calls and texts that were on Dean’s phone. He groaned, letting his head fall forward so that his forehead came into contact with the leather of the steering wheel. He prayed that Garth would get released from the hospital so he didn’t have to come back here any time soon.

**April 14, 2005**

Turns out the universe has a weird way of showing it’s sticking its middle finger up at Dean.

Not when he gets a call from Garth informing him that the doctors have told him that he’s staying in the hospital for a few more days. Dean nearly cursed out loud for the shitty luck he’d seem to have but promised Garth that he’d come to visit him during his lunch break. He just prayed that today might have been one of the rare days that Castiel was off or that somehow he wouldn’t see the brunette.

Turns out the universe really hated him when the elevator doors opened on the floor where Garth’s hospital room was located. Dean balked as he came face to face with Castiel who’d been peering down at a patient’s folder that he had in his hands. “Dean—” Castiel hadn’t even managed to get the rest of what he wanted to say out when Dean had quickly reached across the elevator, jammed his index finger against a random floor button and the elevator doors slipped shut leaving behind one terribly confused Castiel.

**April 17, 2005**

It turns out that avoiding one very angry and pissed doctor for most of the week could reach one hell of a boiling point when Dean showed up to the hospital the day Garth was finally being discharged. Poor guy still had to wear a cast for his healing arm, but at least he was being released from the hospital.

Castiel was drumming his fingers against the granite counter of the nurses’ station, leaning forward slightly when he spied just the nurse he came to see making her way toward him, her nose buried in a patient’s medical folder.

“Hey, Meg!” The dark-haired nurse looked up from the folder she’d been busily glancing over and gave Castiel a snarky smile.

“Well, well, well,” she tutted, “if it isn’t my favorite angel. What do you need?” She asked him, smacking the folder down onto the nurses’ station to press a hand against her hip.

“You know that guy that comes every day to visit the patient in 817?”

“Oh,” Meg hummed, pointing a single finger at Castiel, “is that the guy that looks like the love child between AC/DC and David Bowie?”

Narrowing his eyes at her, he responded slowly, “Sure...I have no clue what any of that means, but if we’re talking about the same guy then yes.”

“Ah,” Meg fixed a smug smirk at him, “want me to get his phone number for you?”

“No, no,” Castiel waved her off, the corner of his lips tugging into a playful smile, “I already have his number. I just need to talk to him and he seems to be avoiding me is all.”

“So you want me to stall him for you?” Castiel nodded at her, causing Meg to lean toward him, “and what’s in it for me if I do it? Huh, angel?”

Tapping an index finger against his chin, Castiel fakely gasped at her, “How about I don’t show everyone that pic of you back in undergrad?” He smiled a little wider the moment her eyes widened at him.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She hissed.

“Oh, I would.” Castiel made a move as if he was going to reach into the pocket of his scrubs for his phone; Meg’s hand lashed out and clamped onto his wrist as she hissed at him.

“No one needs to know what my actual hair used to look like.” She huffed as she released the grip on his arm, “fine, I’ll make sure to stall your boy toy for you.”

“Thanks, Meg, I love you a bunch.”

“Oh, go burn in hell,” Meg stuck her tongue out at him as she shooed him away from the nurses' station. “I’ll let you know when your boy toy comes to pick up his friend.” 

What seemed like hours later, Meg finally glanced up to see Dean walking toward the nurses’ station, his gaze focused on the door number that indicated Garth’s room.

“Hey, excuse me!” Meg called out to him, forcing Dean to swing his gaze around until it settled upon her. His bushy brows pressed together in confusion as he lifted a single one to question if she was calling out to him and not someone else. “Yes, you.” Meg waved him over, quickly pulling out stacks and stacks of papers that were the exact copies of each other. Papers that Dean would hardly notice were the same since no one ever bothered to read the entirety of medical forms so long as they got it pointed out for them where they needed to sign their initials and dot their I’s.

“You’re Garth Fitzgerald’s friend, aren’t you?” Meg’s lips twitched into a well-practiced smile as Dean leaned against the granite counter of the nurse’s station.

His own grin causing his lips to light up his brown butter-colored eyes. “I am. What sort of pretty lady like you is asking?”

Meg inwardly snorted at Dean’s cheesy lines as she lifted the stack of papers and placed them in front of him. “A pretty lady who has a bunch of stuff for you to sign before Mr. Fitzgerald can be released.” She pointed to the empty lines down at the bottom of the first page. “Just sign there.” She quickly handed him a pen, taking a bit of delight when confusion washed away the cockiness on his face.

“But I’m not his next of kin or anything.” Dean’s thumb hovered above the end of the ballpoint pen in his hand.

Meg smiled sweetly at him, a well-practiced lie rolling off of her tongue with ease. “It’s a new hospital policy. Now please just sign the papers.”

With a bit of a huff, Dean set about signing the papers as Meg slipped her personal cell from her pocket and quickly sent a text off to angel boy’s phone.  _ Your lover boy is waiting for you downstairs. Come get him. _

Her phone buzzed in her hand not a second later, with an incoming text from Castiel with only three words.  _ I hate you _ .

She smiled at it. The things she did for love.

A few minutes later and Dean was only through half the stack of pages that Meg had set down in front of him. He lifted his head to ask Meg a question about the forms when he noticed a movement to his right that had him twisting his head in the direction.

Castiel Novak stalked down the hall like a Greek God seeking vengeance. Anger and hurt wrapped around him like a cloak of darkness that had Dean’s back going ram road straight as he noticed the devious smirk on Meg’s face.

She’d set him up. Dean’s features darkened with consternation as he spun on his heels only to find another nurse standing in his path to freedom. He was about Dean’s height, with a swept combover and a light beard that made him look like he belonged on the cover of some British men’s magazine. His name tag indicated that his name was Ishim. He shot a look at Meg as she mouthed at him that she owed him one.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice behind him had his lips flattening into a thin line as he tipped his head forward and breathed out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

Turning on his heels, hazel eyes snapped open to see hurt and anger glittering in Castiel’s ocean blue own. Dean was taken aback by the storm of emotions in them, much less how Castiel’s fingers reached out to wrap a tight grip around Dean’s bicep and drag him away from the nurses' station toward the employee break room. He all but kicked the door open and pushed Dean in so that he could stand in front of the door, blocking Dean’s only escape out of the room.

“Why are you avoiding me?” The question was short and curt as Castiel crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Avoiding?” Dean splutters the word out like he’d never heard of it once in his life. “I don’t know what you’re talking about? Avoiding who? You? Never?”

Castiel gave him a firm look that shimmered with tempered anger. 

“I’m not—” Dean sighed, whatever he’d been planning to say dying immediately on the surface of his tongue. “Things are just complicated right now.”

Castiel sighed at his words, his hand flying up to press against his chest. “That’s a relief.”

It was Dean’s turn to feel confusion thrumming between his rib cage. “Why?” His chest burned when Castiel finally looked up at him, relief competing for room to camp upon his face along with a thousand other emotions. 

“I thought you hated me.”

Dean jerked back slightly, “What?” He laughed breathlessly, his eyebrows pinching together as he gazed at Castiel. “No. Why would I hate you?”

“That’s beside the point right now.” The tension seemed to ebb away from Castiel’s body with a sharp sigh, pressing a hand to his forehead he slightly shook his head. “God, I need coffee,” he muttered to himself, glancing up to address Dean. “Do you want some coffee?”

Nodding his head in affirmation, Castiel gestured for Dean to take a seat at the small circular table near the kitchenette as he set about pouring out coffee in a pair of paper cups. Steam curled off of the hot liquid inside of them as Castiel slightly turned to ask him if he wanted creamer, sugar, milk or any other assortment of additives that had been placed in a wicker basket beside the coffee machine.

“Just some sugar, please.” 

Castiel nodded as he added a packet of sugar to Dean’s cup and a bunch of creamer to his own. Carrying to the two cups over to the table, Castiel set them down. The dark-haired man listlessly stirred his coffee with a plastic spoon as he peered at Dean with dark, contemplative eyes. “So what’s gotten so bad in your life that you decided to run every time I tried talking to you?”

Sensing the obvious tension in the room, Dean’s mind turned to his most recent fight with Sam. His brother’s words rattled around in the interior of his brain.  _ You’re running away from your problems, just like you’ve been doing all your life _ . His lips twitched into a frown as he lifted his cup of coffee up to his lips and took a sip of it; the sharp, acrid taste of burnt coffee beans rolled onto the surface of his tongue. He must have made a face because Castiel’s own features softened enough that he gave Dean an apologetic look for the shitty hospital coffee.

“My brother and I got into a fight.” Dean finally told him, once the bitter taste of coffee had stripped itself from his tongue.

Castiel’s brows slightly rose upon his face as he pulled his plastic spoon from his own cup to take a sip of his coffee. “How bad was it?”

“Pretty bad. We haven’t talked in two weeks.”

“That bad, huh?” Castiel took another sip of his coffee as he seemed to search for the right words to say next. “Your and your brother’s relationship will work itself out eventually. You guys are how far apart?”

“Four years.”

Castiel’s lips curled into a smile at that. “Siblings that are as close like you and your brother can never stay mad at each other; it’s always a ‘ride or die’ type of relationship and I know from experience.”

“You have siblings?” Dean latched onto the small nugget of information with interest.

“Yep,” a warm light of fondness for his siblings burned in Castiel’s eyes. “Six brothers and two sisters.”

Dean’s brows shot up on his face as he inhaled his coffee, causing him to splutter as he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. “Eight siblings???”

A sly smirk stretched across Castiel’s face as he gave Dean a soft shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t every day that someone was one kid out of nine. “What can I say? My parents got married young.”

“Or they porked a lot.” Dean snorted causing Castiel to bow his head as hearty laughter curled its way out of his throat.

“Don’t worry about your brother,” Castiel finally told him once the laughter died down, his eyes twinkled with the light of someone who’d gone through their fair share of sibling fights. “Everything will work itself out eventually.”

“What if it doesn’t?” There was a heavy weight to Dean’s question that had Castiel frowning slightly.

“Then do what I and my brothers did the last time we didn’t talk for nearly a month.”

“What?”

“Started a mini-war that ended up in all of us being grounded.”

With a sharp laugh, Dean leaned back in his chair. “You have to tell me exactly what happened.”

Castiel’s eyes light up with the heated warmth of a man who’d love to tell what was an epic story but had very little time to do so at the moment. His index finger rhythmically tapped the exterior of his paper cup as his eyes drifted upward to glance at the ceiling. “I will,” he said after some time, “say dinner tonight around eight?”

Dean gave a sharp nod of his head as Castiel rose from his seat. “Sure, I’ll be at your house by then.”

The look Castiel gave him at that was enough to drag a single finger of complex emotions up the length of Dean’s spine. Emotions he hadn’t felt in so long that he all but forgot the names to them.

“I didn’t say it was at my place, Dean.” There a was a hunger to Castiel’s words, his voice deep and gravelly as the barest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. With a sharp turn, he was all but leaving the room, leaving Dean alone in his seat staring after the surgeon with a look of shock upon his face.

It was much later when Dean was sitting in Castiel’s car as the two of them drove to someplace that Castiel was proving to be tight-lipped about regardless of the amount of questions Dean lobbed into his lap. 

All Castiel would tell him was, “ _ you’ll see _ and  _ I promise you’ll love it _ .” 

When they pulled into the parking lot of the diner, Dean’s eyes widened to saucer’s in his head as his vision swept over the classic cars that were parked in the parking lot. A bunch of old-timers were admiring a 1957 Chrysler Plymouth Fury while a bunch of kids who’d been taken to the diner by their grandparents were busy dragging their fingers across the sleek detailing of a Ford Thunderbird. The exterior of the diner gave off a 50s vibe to it, with a bunch of waiters and waitresses skating their way through the cars on rollerskates.

“I love it,” Dean whispered, pressing the tips of his fingers against his lips in shock. The astonishment in his tone had Castiel barking out in laughter.

“You haven’t even seen the inside yet, come on.” 

The two of them got out of the car and headed inside the diner, where the hostess lead them to a booth with a window seat before she placed down a pair of menus. The interior of the restaurant clearly carried on the retro 50s theme along with its love of classic cars as every single one of the booths was made from the front and back end of a classic car. Sliding into the booth so that his butt came into contact with the rich red leather of the booth, Dean glanced around taking in the packed diner with a satisfied interest.

Jubilation fluttered in his chest like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. Dean hadn’t ever known a place like this existed when he glanced at Cas and leaned against the table. “Why’d you pick this place?”

Castiel shrugged his shoulders as if he’d hadn’t planned this out at all. “I remembered that you had a thing for cars.” He’d merely responded with a quirk of his mouth as their waitress came over to take their drink orders, with a wink Castiel suggested Dean try one of the diner’s ice cream floats as they were famous for it.

Dean settled on getting a berry Fanta ice cream float and Castiel ordered a Coke ice cream float alongside a glass of ice water. They made light conversation until their drinks came where Dean took a sip of his float, surprised to find that the unusual combination worked when Castiel took a sip of his own drink and smiled at Dean. 

“Well, I guess I should explain the story of the  _ great war _ to you.” Castiel cleared his throat, his eyebrows pinching together like a man who’d seen war one too many times. “I don’t remember how it started much anymore, my baby brother, Uriel had stolen some of our toys or something and being the youngest of siblings he could get away with anything including murder if my mother let him. Essentially he could steal our toys or break them and not get in trouble for it, so I and my other brother’s decided to punish him for it.

“So there’s Uriel sobbing in a dining room chair my brother Luke had dragged into the room. We had him tied down into it with scarves we’d stolen from my mom’s closet and in she comes with my dad. Both of them noticing the house is a mess and more importantly that my brothers and I have taken the liberty of her absence to take her red lipsticks and smear it onto our cheeks like it was warpaint. So she gives us this look, like Jesus himself, would have withered if he’d resurrected and found himself on the end of her gaze. But she just opens her mouth and goes, ‘ _ I’m going to give you three seconds _ —’”

Castiel pauses in the midst of the story, his eyes widening and his cheeks dusting themselves a soft shade of pink as his words had tangled themselves up in an accent that reminded Dean of the 1993 movie  _ Cool Runnings _ .

“Uh, what was that?” Dean asked him with a raise of his brows.

“Sorry,” Castiel apologized, pressing his fingers to his mouth as his lips twisted into a stubborn frown. “I didn’t realize my accent was coming out.”

“Your accent?”

“Yea, my mom’s from Jamaica.” Reaching into his pocket, Castiel slipped his wallet out and unfolded it to produce a photo he slipped in front of Dean. It showed a large family with what looked like an older married couple standing in the middle—a couple that Dean presumed to be Castiel’s parents. The man had shaggy silver hair, a few random strands retaining what had once been in his natural brown hair color. A thick beard and mustache were sported on his face, his blue eyes twinkled in a way that clearly had been inherited by his son. 

Castiel’s mom, on the other hand, had a complexion that was anything but Castiel’s own. Her skin was as rich as freshly tilled earth during the spring; her eyes a rich brown and her hair was braided into a series of complex braids. Dean didn’t quite know what to say, except, “Your mom is—”

“—Black?” Castiel answered for him, a single brow upon his face slightly raised causing Dean to realize that Castiel must have gotten such a question more times than he’d liked to admit. “I know I look as pale as a napkin, but she did give birth to me.”

“I just didn’t realize you were—”

“Mixed? No one ever does.”

“So, how’d your parents meet?” Dean asked him. The two of them pausing when their waitress came back over to take their food orders. 

Castiel reached across the table and pocketed the photo. Their waitress left once their orders had been taken.

“My dad had a point in his life where he just spent a few years traveling around the world for NGO work. He ended up in Jamaica and met my mom who was a nurse. They fell in love, moved to the states and had me and my siblings.” Castiel took a sip of float, the ice cream halfway melted by this point. “How’d your parents meet?”

Dean’s lips pressed tightly together. His words coming out as barely a whisper. “I actually don’t know.”

Sensing Dean was uncomfortable with the topic, Castiel quickly changed it by asking him about a classic car that he could spy from their booth. He watched Dean’s face light up, his eyes shining like a kid in a candy shop as he launched into an explanation of the car outside. Their food came and they switched to much lighter topics, they barely noticed the time passing by as they ordered dessert—Castiel ordered an extra one and asked for it to be placed in a to-go box so he could bring it home for Claire. The whole time during dessert, however, Castiel couldn’t tear his gaze away from Dean’s lips; his thoughts riddled with his desire to grip Dean’s collar and pull him over the table so he could press his own lips against Dean’s plush ones.

Time seemed to be nonexistent between them until the staff had to come over as they were cleaning up and politely asked the two of them to leave. With a chuckle, Castiel shook his head as Dean offered to pay for half of the bill and the tip, instead he pulled money out of his wallet and placed it down. The two of them walked outside to a nearly empty parking lot, neither of them wanting the night to end until Castiel cleared his throat. “I’ll drop you off at your apartment.”

Dean nodded. The drive between them silent except for the radio playing some popular pop song of the season. When they arrived at Dean’s apartment complex, Castiel got out of the car, his skin itching with a million different feelings as he called out for Dean to wait.

The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating everything down below as Dean spun on his heels to find Castiel so dangerously close to him that he was surprised to find Castiel’s baby blue eyes were much lighter than he originally thought them to be.

The two men stared at each other, neither certain what it was that needed to be said until Castiel’s eyes flittered to Dean’s lips. Raising a single hand, he reached out hesitantly to drag a thumb over Dean’s bottom lip. 

Electricity shot its way down from Dean’s brain to his spine until it found a stable foundation in his feet. It was a sharp, electric feeling that buzzed between them; a feeling Dean knew all too well from the countless one night stands he had over the years. It was a feeling he got just right when he knew he was about to kiss someone.

Castiel’s eyes were half-lidded as he continued to stare at Dean; baby blues eyes now the color of lazy summer storm clouds. Dean blinked, half certain of what was going to happen next, only for his eyes to snap open in shock when he felt Castiel remove his thumb from his lip. A grin stretching across his face as the surgeon’s gaze flickered from the mechanic’s lips to his eyes. “You had a little something right there.”

It was a lame excuse. The both of them knew it.

“Goodnight, Dean.” There was a longing to the way he said his name.

“Goodnight, Castiel.” Dean’s voice was a little tight as he watched Castiel stare at him lingeringly before heading back toward his car and driving away from the complex.

It isn’t until sometime later when Castiel gets home, hands a tip to the babysitter for watching Claire for longer than he’d intended and collapses in his bed that he groans into the thick cotton of his pillowcase. 

It was a groan of desperation and anger at his actions—or inactions in this case—he should have kissed Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's my own personal headcanon that Castiel is mixed (because come on realistically there's only so many ways to explain the angel's different vessels in canon through a fic), but he's also half-Jamaican so there's that.
> 
> Also, I'm so sorry for that Cool Runnings reference...it pained me to write that in but there's not that many popular mediums featuring Jamaican accents that a lot of people are familiar with.
> 
> **Next update: April 10**


	8. Pandora's Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I can't believe I missed an update ( ╥ω╥ ). Quarantine has me so messed up that I've started to notice that the days have blended together and I didn't realize it was the day after Overcome was supposed to update. I hope everyone is staying safe in this pandemic though and is taking time to take care of their mental health in these trying times. I know how rough hearing about the pandemic every day can be! Also if you can just applaud your local healthcare workers, buy them a pizza or even donate masks, take it from someone who's mom works in the healthcare industry and has been having a rough time as her residents and coworkers come into contact with this virus every day and have to see its effects firsthand.
> 
> But enough about all this depressing stuff, here's the new chapter for Overcome!

**May 1, 2005**

He really fucked up his relationship with Sam. 

That’s what Dean thinks to himself as he stares at his phone before snapping it shut. No texts or even a missed call from his brother. They hadn’t talked to each other in weeks and it was starting to aggravate Dean’s nerves, but he refused to cave and be the one to reach out to him.

His thoughts were parted in half by the sharp ring of his cellphone, in his haste to answer it he didn’t bother glancing at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“What did you two idjits, do to each other?” Bobby’s South Dakota accent rumbled in his ear as Dean’s lips pursed together, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to understand what it was that his adoptive father was talking about.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about, boy. Why did I just hear from Sam that he hasn’t spoken to you in nearly half a month over some spat you had?”

With a sharp roll of his eyes, Dean sighed dramatically through his nose. He didn’t put it past Sam going to Bobby about his problems but was a little vexed that his brother couldn’t try to hash it out with him first. “It was nothing, Bobby.”

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing, Dean.” Bobby’s tone was filled with exasperation from a man who was used to Sam and Dean fighting with each other in varying degrees. “You and Sam are thicker than thieves; if you two aren’t talking to each other then it’s serious.”

“Bobby, I’m telling you, it’s nothing.”

Bobby clearly wasn’t backing down despite Dean’s attempts to assuage his concerns. “You and Sam need to talk to each other. You’re the only family each other got, ya hear?”

“Bobby, you’re our family too.” Dean sighed into the phone, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he relaxed against his couch.

“Boy, exactly what I’m saying. Don’t make me come down to California earlier than I was planning to so I can knock some sense into you and Sam.”

That pulled a laugh out of Dean as he assured Bobby that he would talk to his brother. Hanging up after saying goodbyes to his father, Dean quickly sent Sam an apology text.

Sam didn’t respond until three hours later. He also apologizes to Dean for being an ass and texted him to meet him at his campus’ library since he’d be done studying in two hours and they could grab lunch. 

It was a pretty good distance drive from Dean’s Bayview apartment to the Standford campus. Entering the library, Dean was all but surprised to find Sam chatting it up with some Hispanic girl who was twirling her hair flirtatiously around her finger. Sam spied him, said something to the girl who pouted as she glanced at Dean but gave Same a half-wave as she slipped her backpack on her shoulder and headed toward the exit.

Dean’s eyebrows were raised as he made his way over to the table Sam was seated at. His little brother gathering up a stack of books and shoving them into his bag, he snorted as Dean gave him a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Dean. No, we’re in the same class together and she just needed some notes.” Sam snorted as he stood up from the table.

“That’s how it always starts, Sammy.”

They left and headed toward some local eatery where Sam seemed to want to continue riding the apology train. “Dude, listen I’m sorry for picking at your raw wounds,” Sam told him, picking around the toppings of his salad with a fork. “I promise not to mention any of them again until you’re ready to talk about it.”

Dean sighed, his lips flattening, “I’m sorry for punching you in the face.”

Sam’s lips quirked into a smile. “It’s cool. Your punch was pretty weak anyway.”

They quickly ate lunch, Sam needs to get back to the library to study for some upcoming test in one of his classes. Not having much of a plan on how to spend the rest of his day, Dean sat in his car uncertain of where he wanted to go much less what he wanted to do with his free time.

Pursing his lips until a lightbulb brightened inside of his head, Dean let the engine of his car purr to life as he peeled out of the parking lot and away from the Standford parking lot until he traveled to a brick and motor building some distance away with a pair of neon fishnet clad legs blinking brightly in the setting sunlight. 

Dean was seated in his car, staring at the building until he muttered, “Fuck it,” and forced him to climb out of the car and headed into the building.

A sense of overwhelmingness washed over him as he spied the walls lined in a variety of boxed dildos in various shapes and inhuman sizes, mannequins sporting revealing lingerie outfits, and a variety of sex toys that Dean didn’t even know the names of. 

A woman sporting electric blue hair pulled back into a ponytail and a variety of piercings wandered up to him. She sported a pokemon covered lanyard around her neck and an employee ID clipped to it.

“Can I help you?” She asked him, a welcoming smirk upon her face upon seeing Dean’s eyes blown wide as he glanced around the shop.

“Uh, yea,” Dean responded a little nervously, walking into a sex shop far from his normal sexual pastimes of flipping through Playboy magazines. “I’m looking for some stuff.”

The employee laughed, her dark eyebrows rising slightly upon her face. “We have a lot of  _ stuff _ here. What are you looking for specifically? Dildos? Fleshlights? Pocket Pussies? Blowjob simulators? Cock rings? Lube? Porn?” She looked like she wanted to list about everything the shop sold when Dean cut her off with a shake of his head.

“I’m just here for some porn.” His head was ringing slightly from all the words that had just been tossed his way; half of which proved mindboggling for him. 

The employee nodded, “Okay, so what type of porn specifically?”

“Uh,” Dean groaned, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his head.

“We have a lot of porn here. We have your basic hot blondes, your more spicy BDSM, your wild stuff like watersports, bukkake, shibari—” Dean’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar terms, “—or if you’re looking for some simpler stuff. Since you look like a more, back to the basics type of guy. We have your basic straight porn, lesbian, or gay porn.”

His cheeks dusting themselves in pink, Dean coughed into a fist as he mumbled, “that one,” at the employee.

She nodded with understanding, her eyebrow slightly still raised upon her forehead as she gazed at him with an understanding pair of eyes. Clearly she was used to having macho men coming into the shop to buy gay porn more often than not. She motioned for Dean to fall her, leading him to the back of the shop where there was a wall lined with different categories of porn. She lead him to the section that was marked as  _ gay porn _ . 

Pressing the side of her index finger to her lip, her brows furrowed in concentration as she muttered something about starting Dean off, “with something simple.” Her fingers skated over titles with ridiculous and cheesy names such as  _ Cum Suckers _ ,  _ Frisky Summers _ , and  _ How the West was Hung _ which featured a male actor dressed in nothing more than a cowboy hat and boots who was reclined nakedly against a chair sporting a raging erection. 

“Oh, this one!” She hissed, her fingers grabbing a porn DVD that featured a lead actor on the cover that had a bookish/librarian look that reminded Dean of Castiel. 

Snorting at the cover, Dean glanced at her, his lips twitching with laughter. “I’ll take it.” Nearly half an hour later and Dean was leaving the shop with his porn DVD, a box of condoms, some lube and a fleshlight that the employee had managed to talk him into buying somehow.

When he came home and slipped off his shoes, Dean thanked the universe that the walls of his apartment were extra thick. Popping the DVD into his player, Dean relaxed on the couch, the button of his jeans popped open as the DVD started out slow, the title flashes across the screen as the porn opened up to the lead actor groaning in frustration to find that his shower wasn’t generating hot water. 

Dean snorted at the cheesy and slow scene; something he wasn’t used to with the typical porn magazines that he flipped through or the fantasies that he used to get him through tugging one out.

_ The lead actor on-screen walked into the bathroom naked, a single flimsy towel wrapped around his waist. Turning the knobs of the shower, he let the towel fall freely from his hips as bullets of water pounded into the bathroom tiles, cascading down them like a broken waterfall.  _

_ The towel slid down pert globes of flesh that slightly jiggled with each movement that the actor made. _

Dean’s mouth was dry as the actor on-screen turned to take off his glasses, his brain vaguely voicing a thought that Castiel and the actor in this porn DVD looked remarkably similar. His cock twitched idly in his boxers at the thought as he focused his attention onto the porn playing on his TV screen. 

_ The actor slid into the shower only to immediately jerk backward as wintery cold water collided onto his skin. “Uh, seriously,” he groaned for the camera. The next scene cut to him standing in his living room, a phone pressed to his ear as he fumbled to wrap the towel around his waist once more. “Yes, hi, I have an issue with my shower. Could you come fix it?” _

_ The scene cut to reveal a handsome, yet rugged dirty blond coming up to the man’s front door. He knocked his knuckles against the wood, smiling as the lead actor threw open the door for him. _

_ “Dan!” The lead actor cried out, “thanks so much for coming to fix this on such short notice.” _

_ “Don’t worry about it Caleb, it’s the least I could do for a friend.” Dan laughed, his eyes darkening as he watched Caleb’s pert ass that was barely hidden by the thinness of the towel. _

_ He followed his friend into the bathroom, where Caleb watched Dan get to work. Caleb sat on top of the toilet lid, watching Dan repair the anti-scald device in the shower. “Alright, that should work,” Dan replied with a huff, rising to his feet as he turned to see Caleb’s legs were spread apart slightly. He swallowed nervously before gesturing to the shower, “I should see if it works before I go.” _

_ Caleb nodded, standing up from the toilet, he walked over to the shower as Dan made to step out, Caleb gripped the detachable shower head and turned on the knobs. Water sprayed from the showerhead and splashed everywhere, soaking Dan’s shirt and the front of Caleb’s chest causing both men to curse as the shower seemed to conveniently for the porn’s purpose have more troubles than either man realized. _

_ “Shit!” Dan grumbled the front of his black shirt was completely soaked. With a laugh, he shook his head as he pulled his shirt over his head and bunched it up in his hands. “I think I might need to spend just a little more time in your shower.” _

_ Dan’s laughter bubbled to a halt as he noticed the beads of water tracing the curves of Caleb’s chest and down his stomach to disappear into the dark tangles of his friend’s happy trail. Lips darting out to wet dry lips, he jumped slightly as Caleb reached out to grip his arm. _

_ “I think you can focus on the shower after we get a little dirty, don’t you think?” Caleb asked him, his eyes darting to the growing mass between his friend’s legs.  _

_Surging forward, Caleb’s plush lips connected with his friend’s own. His hand wrapping around Dan’s bicep to pull the man closer to him._ _Lips parted as Caleb turned his head to the side, his tongue darting out to slip between Dan’s lips as his friend’s eyes fluttered in ecstasy. A soft, shuddering moan pulled itself from his lips as Caleb sucked upon his tongue, turning Dan’s spine into jelly. _

Dean’s lip parted as a soft gasp pulled itself into his lungs, his cock twitched warmly in his boxer briefs. His eyes slipped shut as he pressed a hand against his stomach and let his hand trail downwards. His palm warm against the half-hard mound between his legs, his fingers skirting against the clothed portion of his balls. Pleasure coursing through his veins as he watched the two onscreen actors kissing, lips becoming swollen as fingers tangled themselves into the hair. Dean thought about doing the same thing to Castiel. The heat radiating off of their bodies as the two men lost themselves in the blistering pools of pleasure.

A heat that rivaled the deepest circles of hell. A thought fluttered between the synapses of Dean’s brain that if he were cast down into the deepest pit, surrounded by damnation and torture that he’d want Castiel to come find him, splay him open for his own pleasure and surround him with blistering heat as the man became his salvation in the darkest of pits. With Castiel’s rough hands gripping his biceps and dragging him out of his own perdition.

His mouth was watering from pleasure as the lead actor onscreen loosed the knot keeping the flimsy towel together. The cheap cotton falling down to pool around his feet. Dan looked at the average-sized cock with reverence, his thumb flying to caress the mushroom-shaped head as the rest of his fingers barely wrapped around the slightly thick shaft.

Dean couldn’t help himself from wondering what exactly it was that Castiel was packing; his thoughts moving from the porn playing on the screen to his own fantasy. He imagined Castiel wearing a white button-up and jeans that hugged the curves and definitions of his legs and ass. The sleeves of his button-up were rolled up to his elbows, showing the strong definitions of his arms and the thick veins that were there.

The button-up was soaked with water, clinging to his skin as if it was made of plastic. There was a soft smile on his face that seemed to only be reserved for Dean lately; that soft smile that just barely tugged at the corner of his lips yet lit up his eyes with a light that made Dean’s mouth water as he let out a shuddering moan, the bulge between his legs hard as he palmed over it, giving it a gentle squeeze that had his spine straightening slightly, his head falling back against the sofa.

Moans floated from his tv, a sound that had Dean shivering as he tried to imagine what Castiel would sound like in bed. Was he the type that made breathless sounds, more focused on feeling the pleasure in the moment or was he the type of guy that was more vocal? 

Dean’s tongue darted out to lick dry lips as he imagined the Castiel in his head crooking a finger in Dean’s direction. His baby blue eyes the color of murky water, half-lidded as he directed Dean’s gaze to the bulge in his pants. Nimble fingers flew to the belt wrapped around his waist, his fingers flicking open the buckle of his belt and undoing it, Dean’s palm pressed firmly against his bulge as his fantasy Castiel grasped the buckle of his belt and drew it out of belt loops of it only to drop the entire thing onto the floor.

There was something about the single moment in the fantasy that had a part of Dean’s brain-melting as the fingers of his other hand curled into the fabric of the couch. His fingers wrapped around the cotton outlined erection in his boxers. Giving himself a sharp tug, Dean’s lips fell open a soft moan rolling past them as a single spot of wetness beaded at the tip of his clothed cock.

Dean shuddered as he imagined his own hand wasn’t his but Castiel’s; that Castiel’s hand was wrapped around his cock and tugging against the cotton material. The muscles in Dean’s thighs quivered with pleasure, his mouth salivating as he pulled his hand off of his mound, dragged it back up and slipped it underneath the band of his boxers. A satisfying hiss slipped through his teeth as he curled a hand around his erection; the skin molten hot in his palm as he imagined his own hand was Castiel’s own.

_ “I’ve barely had my hands on you and you’re this hard for me?” Castiel chuckled in his ear, his breath tickling the outer shell of the skin. _

Dean groaned his grip tight on his dick, his toes curling as he dragged his hand up his own shaft. Beads of precum slid down the surface of his dick from the head, twisting his wrist he spread the streaks of precum around the shaft. His moans that fell from his lips mingled with the ones coming from the tv, his mind so full of Castiel that he lost himself in the pleasure of his hand stroking the length of his dick.

Hand slick with his own precome, pleasure pumping itself through his veins, he allowed himself to lose any grip of his identity in the hazy fog of pleasure that he was experiencing. Teeth sinking into his lower lip, he let out a shuddering moan as his hand sped up over his length. Precum oozed from his slit, the only sounds that he could hear where the pounding of his own heart and the shallow gasps of his own breath. Pleasure pooled like molten lava inside of his groin. It was growing steadily with each stroke of his hand until Dean let out one shuddering gasp; thick ropes of cum shot out of his slit, the muscles in his thighs quivering to the point of pain as his cum streaked across the back of his hand, his pubes and the edges of his shirt.

Castiel’s face floated on the edges of his vision, his eyes snapped open to see credits rolling across the screen. A curse burned itself on his tongue as Dean dragged his non-cum covered hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he muttered to the empty space of the room.

He had it bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: April 24
> 
> So this chapter was mostly more smut than plot, sorry to anyone who was really looking forward to some angst and fluff, we'll return to all of that in the next chapter.


	9. A Voice of Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one of my faves since we properly get some dialogue between Cas and Crowley. I loved their dynamic in the show and really wanted to replicate it here. Also updated the last chapter with a title, for some reason I thought I had put on in but I guess it didn't stick for some reason?

**May 2, 2005**

The spoon dragged slowly through the milky brown liquid, steam curling off of the surface and warming the side of Castiel’s hand as he stared listlessly at the wall of the breakroom. If someone were to take a snapshot of this very moment, they’d easily use the picture for some angsty rom-com that’d be airing in months on Lifetime.

A groan behind Castiel dragged him away from his thoughts, causing him to slightly turn his body to see Crowley standing behind him, a slight scowl upon his face that Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the man without. The two were an unlikely pair, an unwitting friendship forged out of many late nights together and having to deal with some irritating patients. Despite much of the hospital staff thinking that the two had an antagonistic relationship with each other, Crowley knew a fair bit about Castiel’s personal life, just as Castiel did for the English man.

Castiel liked to pride himself on the fact that Crowley merely tolerated his presence—something he often told the surgeon—but knew better by the fact that Crowley had a hard time putting his own feelings into words and knew above it all that Crowley considered him a close friend even if he was unwilling to say so.

Castiel watched Crowley come over to the break room table, the scowl still on his face as he tossed down his store-bought salad onto the table. Castiel merely quirked a brow in his direction as the man dragged out a chair and plopped himself in it. “Jesus,” Crowley muttered at him as he snapped open the plastic packaging on the salad, “you look like someone just spat in your coffee and told you Adam Ant was the worst fashion icon of the 80s.”

Castiel gave him a sharp roll of his eyes as he got up and headed toward the lone vending machine in the room. Shoving a hand into his pocket he pulled out some loose change he usually kept there. “You know you can be a real son of a bitch sometimes, Crowley?”

“Son of a  _ witch _ , Cassie,” it was Crowley’s personal nickname for Castiel; one that he hated but Crowley had deemed fair after Castiel somehow managed to find out Crowley wasn’t his actual name, instead it’d been something he had legally changed the moment he’d turn 16; since as Crowley had put it.  _ Who’s going to respect someone called Fergus Roderick MacLeod? _ “My mother’s a practicing Wiccan. Have at least some respect.”

Castiel snorted as he jabbed his finger against the buttons of the vending machine after inserting some coins in. He watched the snicker bar rattle as it was pushed to the edge and over the cliff to tumble down to the bottom of the machine. He grabbed his snickers bar and made his way back over to the table where he took a seat, just as Crowley was smearing the packet of French dressing that came with his salad all over the contents of it.

As he was picking up his fork, Crowley took one sweeping glance at him and asked, “Now, what has your knickers nearly wedged up your ass?”

Castiel sighed, unwrapping his candy bar to take a bite out of it. Unlike his other coworkers, he could come to Crowley for advice on his dating life, the two having mutually discovered that their sexuality was anything but straight in an odd conversation the two of them had once. 

As Crowley had once put it in a conversation they’d had, “ _ Cassie, no one in my generation loved Duran Duran for just their sound _ .”

...It was the weirdest conversation Castiel had ever had in his life, but both men had come to discover that the other was a part of the same coin, sexuality-wise. 

Letting out a sigh through his nose, Castiel swallowed the chocolate and nougat mixture down. “You know that guy I’ve been talking about?”

Crowley rolled his eyes as he chewed around a forkful of lettuce in his mouth. “When don’t you talk about him?”

Castiel gave him a sharp look which caused the male nurse to snort sharply. 

“I like him,” Castiel continued, “I just don’t know if he’s attracted to me.”

Raising a single brow upon his face, Crowley swallowed his food dramatically and sighed with every bit of practice that a theater kid could muster. “If Dean wasn’t at least attracted to you, you wouldn’t be here pouring your heart out to me like you’re some blushing teenager girl the night before her school’s dance.” He speared his fork into another mound of his salad and numerous toppings and lifted the dressing drenched lettuce to his lips. “Just give Dean something he really loves—like a taxidermy raven—it should woo him enough for you to shag him.”

Castiel’s lips twitched into a smirk. “A taxidermy raven is what you gave to your wife.”

“Yep, and that’s how we got married.” Crowley shoved his fork between his lips, wiggling his wedding finger to emphasize his point.

Castiel chuckled at that, shoving the other half of his snickers into his mouth as he rose up from the table. “This is why I never go to your house.” He turned just as Crowley flipped him the middle finger in return for his comment.

Work was hectic and stressful for the day and Castiel was grateful when he could finally lock himself in his car and head home.

By the time he was pushing his way through the front door, he graciously tipped the babysitter as Claire furiously dragged a purple crayon over a section of her drawing. 

“Claire, sweety, how was your day?” 

Claire glanced up from her drawing, graham cracker crumbs clinging to her lips that Castiel reached out to brush away with his thumb.

“It was good. I drew a bunch and Iggy—” the teen babysitter that had been watching Claire ever since she’d been born, “—took me to the park!” Claire paused in her coloring to glance up at her dad. “Daddy?”

“Hmm?” Castiel hummed, his skin already crawling with a desire to strip himself free from his scrubs and take a shower.

“When is Dean going to come over again?”

Castiel paused, his eyes slightly widening as he stared at his daughter only for them to deepen with an understanding that a child didn’t quite possess despite the gravity of their words. He sighed, his shoulders rising and falling in a slight shrug. “Adults are sometimes too busy to hang out with each other, sweetie.”

Puffing her rosy cheeks out at his words, “Does Dean not hang out with us because you love him, Daddy?”

Castiel’s eyes went wide; the blues of his eyes shimmering as he sat down next to his daughter at the tiny play table she was seated at. Reaching out, he ran his fingers through her wavy blonde hair and frowned at her. “Sweetie, why are you asking me a question like that?”

“Because,” Claire started, picking up a green crayon after placing down the purple one, “I heard Morgan’s mom tell Mrs. Harrison that she doesn’t want Morgan to hang out with me anymore because you love guys.” Tears shimmered in her vibrantly colored eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel reached out and grasped his daughter’s face in his hands. “Sweetie, what Morgan’s mom said was not nice and you’re going to find people in the world who don’t have anything nice to say about others, but you need to be patient, smart, and—”

“—kind,” Claire giggled up at him. 

He smiled at her, “—to show people like that that their words can’t get to you.” He ruffled her hair, “just because Daddy or any other person likes who they like it should never be a reason to not want to hang out with them, but there are plenty of other reasons you can choose to not hang out with someone else.”

“Like if they’re mean to animals?” 

Castiel laughed, his daughter’s question so pure and genuine that it couldn’t keep him from smiling. “Yes, that’s one of many reasons. But, sweetie, Dean isn’t avoiding us because Daddy likes guys—” as much as Castiel didn’t enjoy filling his daughter’s ears with a white lie, he didn’t know why Dean was avoiding him in the first place, “—it’s because he’s busy with work.”

Tossing down her crayon, Claire lifted her drawing above her head. “When I see Dean, I’m going to show him my drawing!”

Castiel glanced down at the paper, seeing a picture of a crudely drawn child-like rendition of Batman and Claire holding hands with what seemed to be the Joker and Harley Quinn in jail. 

Reaching out to ruffle her hair once more, Castiel promised her that he’d call Dean when the weekend came.

**May 7, 2005**

Cas’ fingers tapped against the granite surface of the kitchen counter as he pressed his phone to his ear, the ringtone coming out shrilly until Dean picked up on the other end.

“Hello?” Dean gruffly answered, causing Castiel’s stomach to roll with a sense of unease that caused him to frown sharply. A foreboding sense that something was amiss curling itself through his body.

“Dean,” Castiel called out his name softly, “are you—is everything okay?”

Dean paused on the other end of the phone call; it was a silence that seemed to stretch forever until Dean finally spoke. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Castiel truly didn’t believe Dean’s words but decided to steer the conversation in a different direction as it seemed Dean didn’t wish to talk about whatever problems were plaguing him. So instead, he asked Dean if he felt like coming over to his house this weekend or the next; emphasized that Claire missed him and wanted to show him a drawing she made.

Instead of reassurance as he was hoping for, Dean told him, “I don’t really know, Castiel.”

“Claire really wants to see you, though.”

On the other end of the phone call, Dean lifted his head up from his hand to glance around the living space that was strewn in fast food bags and bottles of beer. Depression clung to his shoulders, its talons digging into his skin as its maw was open wide and exposed. Drool dripping from fanged teeth to seep into the cotton of Dean’s shirt. Pushing a heavy sigh out of his nose, Dean’s mouth parted open, “I’ll get back to you on that later.”

Castiel’s lips parted as he was prepared to respond to Dean, his brows wrinkling and causing him to pause when he pulled the phone away from his ear and noticed that Dean had hung up on him.

Sighing, Castiel placed the phone down onto the counter, his mouth wrinkling with worry as he wondered just what was going on with Dean.

**May 24, 2005**

Nearly three weeks passed by with no word from Dean. No text. Not even a phone call.

Castiel wasn’t even certain who it was he could reach out to check up on Dean; the last conversation they did have causing worry to bloom in the surgeon’s chest. He wasn’t even certain how to contact Dean’s younger brother at all either.

His forehead was pressed against the thick wood of the table in the breakroom when Crowley walked in on him. His teeth were sunken into a powdered donut that one of the other nurses had brought in to share, jelly oozed out on the other side. Crowley barely took one glance in Castiel’s direction as he sat down across from the surgeon and uttered, “Damn, don’t you just look like a sorry excuse of a religious ornament.”

He had enough energy to lift his head and glare at Crowley for the witty remark. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“Means that you’re making even this donut taste bad” Crowley gestured to the half-eaten donut he was holding, “just by having to look at your sorry mug.”

“You don’t have to be in the break room right now, you know that right?”

“Where else can I see prime time, lovestruck drama at this hour?”

Castiel groaned, lifting his head up enough from the table that he could press his hands against his face as he rattled off the problems he was having lately to Crowley. He told him how he hadn’t talked to Dean in weeks and was starting to feel the pit of worry gnawing its way out of his stomach.

“I just feel like there’s something wrong, but he won’t open up to me about it.” Castiel sighed, his lips twitching with worry.”

Crowley rolled his eyes as he licked remnants of jelly off of his thumb. “Cassie, dear, I may be an ass. A son of a witch at times, but please don’t mistake me for some reality tv therapist.”

“Ugh,” a long, frustrated groan ripped itself from the depths of Castiel’s throat, “I don’t know what to do—I don’t know if there’s anything I can do!”

“Ha,” Crowley snorted sharply, “ you’re telling me you—you...can heal a literal broken heart, but you can’t come up with a way to ask your boyfriend if he’s feeling depressed?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Cas mumbled glumly.

Rolling his eyes at the obvious being pointed out to him, Crowley pointed a single finger in Castiel’s direction. “Look, just contact Dean’s family if he has one; they surely know his moods and tendencies better.”

“I would if I could.” Castiel pointed out, “but I don’t exactly have his brother’s number on speed dial.”

“Oh, Castiel,” Crowley sighed heavily, “what would you have done if the world hadn’t invented the phonebook?”

After work, Castiel found himself flipping through the yellow pages. His lips pursed as he traced his eyes over the W section of the book, his eyes scanning over names until he found one Sam Winchester just below Dean. Below their names, there were a few other Winchesters as well, some with a slight variation of spelling in their last names. Taking a gamble that this was the right number and not someone else who shared the same name as Dean’s younger brother, Castiel glanced down at the number and at his phone as he typed it in and let it ring.

Outside, the stars were shining brightly as faint clouds drifted across a moonless sky. Castiel prayed this was the right number as it rang for a second time. He could hear a click on the other end as the person picked up and a groggy, baritone voice called out, “Hello? Who’s this?” with a slight yawn.

“Uh,” Castiel uttered, his mind completely blank and devoid of what he wanted to say. “This is Castiel—Dean’s friend—I don’t know if you remember me.”

“Oh!” Sam slurred his words, his voice thick with sleep, “the guy that I met at the coffee shop? The one that took Dean to church?”

“Yea, that’s me.”

“Okay, um,” Sam blinked, narrowing his eyes at the clock on his bedroom table. The bright red numbers indicated that it was 1:17 in the morning. “Can I ask why you’re calling so late?”

Castiel’s lips pursed together as he drummed his fingers against the kitchen granite. “I think we need to talk about your brother, Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter update: May 8 (I promise guys I'll update on time)


	10. Bonds Are Thicker Than Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever remember to upload on time? Apparently not. 
> 
> Also in this house we stan Bobby and Karen Singer. The two best parents that Dean and Sam ever had.

**May 27, 2005**

Sunlight filtered through the narrow slits of the blinds, casting streaks across the dusty kitchen and living room that hadn’t had fresh air in it for what was now weeks. Dust covered every surface, empty beer bottles, and discarded fast food bags that seemed to cover every other surface that hadn't been touched by dust.

A musky scent permeated the air, choking it with the scent of greasy fast food and the scent of old hops. Lying on the floor, amidst the chaos and trash was Dean; his eyes red and puppy from tears that had long dried up. The words of his nightmares were still rattling around in his head, just as they had for weeks now on end.

_ You’re a good boy, Dean. Aren’t you? Only good boys get to do this. _

The words made his stomach roll with nausea, his throat burning from acid and bile that had forced its way out of him so many times now that he hardly could keep anything down once the memories assaulted his mind. Rolling on to his side, for once his thoughts weren’t plagued by awful memories of things in the past. Instead, they turned to the full bottle of pills still sitting on his nightstand. His mouth was dry; numbness flooding through his veins as he thought about what blissful relief would come once the entire content of the bottle was nestled safely in his stomach.

He wondered how long the pills would take to react; how long it would take for anyone to notice he hadn’t left his apartment in weeks—not that he had much in recent days; he now only left to go to work or get fast food if it didn’t deliver.

A sharp, forceful knock came on the door. Causing Dean to frown and ignore it; if it were Jehovah’s Witnesses they’d go away eventually. Especially the lady down the hall that was convinced Dean’s soul “needed saving.” The knock came again, causing him to groan and shout out, “Go away!” at whoever was on the other side of the door.

The knock this time was a little harder and more insistent, causing Dean to roll onto his side, pick up an empty beer bottle and chuck it at the door out of frustration. The glass shattered into a million shards upon coming into contact with the wood. The knocking stopped for a brief second, only to return with haste that had Dean rising to his feet with an audible groan.

Picking his way through trash and empty bottles, Dean strode up to the door, careful to avoid the broken shards of glass, and threw it open prepared to chew out whoever it was that was on the other side. Instead, his eyes widened in shock as he found Bobby standing in the hallway of the apartment complex. Clad in an open plaid shirt, thick vest, and sporting his blue cap. It was a signature look that Dean hadn’t ever seen him without since the first time he met Bobby as a kid.

Sam was standing beside him; his eyes blown wide just staring at Dean’s disheveled appearance. His hair was greasy from days of unwash and it stuck up in random places as if Dean hadn’t bothered to take a brush or comb to it. The shirt he wore was stained with grease and various condiments he’d spilled onto himself. He looked like a bum and from the way, Sam wrinkled his nose at him, he was sure he smelt like one too.

“Bobby?” Dean questioned, unsure if the Bobby standing before him was really there or a manifestation of his mind.

His eyes flickered briefly to Sam, who glanced into the interior of the apartment to see that it was a disheveled mess. It forced the younger Winchester to think back onto a week’s old conversation that he had had that lead him and Bobby to stand where they were.

**Weeks Ago**

A little bit more alert than he had been minutes ago, Sam forced himself to sit upright in bed. His phone pressed against his ear like he was afraid to drop it. 

“I felt something has been wrong with Dean lately. He isn’t responding to any of my texts or calls and I’m just worried that something’s happened to him. I know he’s a little uncomfortable around Claire and I, but I just chalked that up to him being nervous around kids in general.”

Sighing through his nose, Sam scratched the back of his head. His lips pursed as he carefully constructed what it was that he wanted to say. “Has Dean ever told you anything about his childhood?”

Castiel pouted at Sam’s tone; it sounded strained almost like Sam didn’t want to talk about his childhood as much as Dean did. “No. Aside from some stuff about working on your dad’s car as kids, some funny childhood antics of you and him, how your mom couldn’t cook for anything and instead bought out all the time, he hasn’t told me much.”

Pausing on the other end of the line, Castiel thought for a brief second that the phone call had disconnected until Sam asked him, “What has he specifically told you about our dad?” There was a hushed sort of whisper to Sam’s tone that had Castiel narrowing his eyes minutely. 

“Should I be concerned?”

Running his hand over his face, Sam pressed the palm of his hand against his cheek. “If Dean hasn’t told you everything, then I’m not really going to. Half of it isn’t my story to tell and if Dean doesn’t feel comfortable opening up to you about his past, then he will at some point.”

“Oh,” Castiel pushed out, causing Sam to quickly rush to placate him.

“It’s not you dude.” He sighs. “Look, my and Dean’s childhood was fucked up. There was a lot of stuff that happened to Dean that...we’re still trying to deal with to this day. Our dad wasn't...the greatest of guys, okay? He did a lot of stuff throughout our childhood that Dean doesn’t like to nor wants to remember, so he just focuses on the good stuff. The good memories that he has of Dad.”

Sam’s words made him wonder just what the hell happened in Dean’s childhood, his mind turning to some of the horror stories from work that he heard from other nurses and doctors; stories that had to have CPS and other government organizations involved. 

“When Dean feels he’s ready,” Sam continued on, “he’ll tell you everything that happened. Alright?”

Cas nods and thanks Sam for his words.

“But Castiel…..where was Dean the day you met him?”

**The Present**

Dean stared blankly at Bobby; his adoptive father taking one, long sweeping glance around the room. His face was wrinkled in disgust as he took in all the empty junk food containers and the piles of empty beer bottles littering the floor. 

“Bobby,” Dean’s voice was scratchy from disuse, “what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming for a few more months?”

Turning on his feet to stare at Dean, Bobby fixed him a scowling look. “I wasn’t, but you had to go an be an idjit by trying to damn near kill yourself with all this beer and junk food that Sam called me and I got an early flight.”

Sam at least had the decency to look apologetic when Dean turned forest green eyes upon him. “Bobby, nothing’s wrong. I don’t know why Sam called you.”

It seemed Bobby was having none of that by the way he straightened his spine like he was ready to fight Dean on this. “Dean, don’t try to spin me around a bush. You look like you decided to roll around in the depths of hell.” He gestured wildly to Dean’s disheveled appearance. Without a single word, Bobby stalked off toward the kitchen, throwing open cabinets until he found a roll of black garbage bags. Ripping one off, he swung it through the air, forcing air to go into it and expand the bag.

Bobby started in the kitchen, sweeping any trash that he could into the bag. Walking through piles of trash, he made it into the living room, his attention focused on cleaning up the coffee table. He’d cleared off a corner of it as Sam headed into the kitchen to grab a second garbage bag and help him when he spied the cover of a porn DVD. His eyes went wide as he grabbed an empty burger wrapper and set it on the DVD cover so that it wasn’t exposed.

Making a beeline for Dean’s room, he immediately spied the orange pill bottle on the nightstand. His eyes narrowed at it as he dropped the half-full trash bag down at his side, his boots clicking against the floor as he made his way to the nightstand, snatched up the bottle of pills, and marched back into the kitchen-living room. Holding the pill bottle aloft as if it was as deadly as a syringe, Bobby’s mouth wrinkled in anger as his gaze melted Dean into the floor of his apartment. “Dean, what the hell is this?”

Sam took one look at the pill bottle and sucked in a hissed breath. The bottle didn’t have Dean’s name on it and was full as if it had been filled up. 

“Boy, what the hell are these?” Bobby shook the bottle for emphasis, becoming angrier by the second when Dean didn’t answer him.

Instead, Sam looked at his brother, his eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. “Dean, what were you doing in the park the day you met Castiel?”

“It’s none of your business, Sam.” Dean’s forest-green eyes darkened to the color velvet green; to Sam, it looked similar to the color of spells Professor Quirrel once hurled at Harry in the chamber of secrets film. 

“Dean, were you planning to kill yourself that day?” Sam’s eyes were soft with realization as he mentally pieced together what Castiel had told him and Dean’s recent behavior.

Bobby’s eyes went so wide that both boys were afraid they’d pop out of his head. “Sam. Go outside and cool off.”

“But—” Sam started to object, earning him a sharp shake of Bobby’s head.

“Go outside,” Bobby repeated himself.

Leaving, Sam left the two of the men by themselves. Reaching up to take his hat off of his head, Bobby sighed as he stared at his adoptive son and without a word walked into the bathroom where he screwed the cap off of the bottle, tipped the pills into the toilet, and flushed them down. He tossed the bottle into the trash and walked back out into the room.

“Boy, talk to me.” Reaching out Bobby grasped Dean’s shoulders in his hands; the touch warm and comforting despite the fact that Dean’s gaze was cold.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Sam’s being ridiculous, I’m fine.”

“Boy, you’re not fine.” Bobby pointed out to him, taking a hand of Dean’s shoulder to make a sweeping gesture to the room full of empty beer bottles and trash. “Do you really think someone who’s alright would be living like this?”

Dean gave a small lift of his shoulders that was hit attempt at a shrug. “I’m just going through a funk.”

“This isn’t a funk, Dean. This is depression.”

Shrugging off his adoptive father’s touch, Dean’s brows wrinkled as he let out a frustrated scoff. “Would you stop worrying about me.”

“It’s my job to worry about you!”

Eyes narrowing at Bobby until they were nothing more than the dark, mossy floors of a forest, Dean’s upper lip curled in ire. “It isn’t. And the last time I checked I’m an adult and the only people who can worry about me and Sam are my mom and dad and you’re not my dad, Bobby.” His head was swimming with anger, the words he just spoke leaded weights upon his tongue. Part of him feels bad when he watches the hurt flicker across Bobby’s face as quick as a smack to the cheeks.

“Dean, I damn well am your father.” Bobby hissed at him, his teeth bared in anger as he tugged his other hand off of Dean and pointed a single finger at his chest. “I’m the one who raised you after I took you in—along with Karen—I took both you and Sam in after all the bullshit your dad put you through; after all the unsafe conditions he forced you two to live in.” Reaching up, Bobby grasped Dean’s face between his hands, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You’re not living, Dean. You’re dying like a man whose been dead for years. You need to talk to someone, whether that be me or your brother.”

A sharp sigh forced itself through Dean’s nose. “Dad didn’t talk about his issues with anyone, so why should I?”

“You’re a ticking time bomb, Dean. It’s only a matter of time before you explode.”

Dean’s lips sealed themselves together as he stared at Bobby. “You won’t have to worry about that happening, Bobby. I have my methods of coping and Sam has his. Are mine healthy? Probably not, but they’re the best that I have right now.”

Bobby’s lips twitched in mild annoyance. “At least cut back on the drinking and the junk food too. And make sure you at least eat a damn salad once in a while.”

Nose wrinkling in disgust at the mention of eating any sort of leafy green, Dean promised Bobby that he’d eat one single baby carrot stick a month in his honor.

A smile cracked across the surface of Bobby’s face at that as he patted Dean’s shoulder and urged him to head into the bathroom and take a proper shower while he and Sam cleaned up the apartment. Heading off into the bathroom, Bobby glanced around the apartment once he heard the bathroom door click shut, slipping his hat back onto his head, he sighed, “John. I should’ve beat the shit out of you when I had the chance.” 

**March 12, 1990**

A brief flicker of a smile stretched across Bobby’s face as his eyes flitted from the youngest Winchester child to the oldest. Both of who were preoccupied with Tom and Jerry playing on the television; cans of orange-flavored pop rested beside them with a large bag of chips that the two were snacking on together. Reaching out Bobby drew the french doors that separated the living room from the kitchen closed, the only sound that he could hear from the kitchen was the muffled noises of the tv, the chirp of birdsong filtering through the open window and the snippets of Rufus and Karen’s conversation as she asked him about her blooming cosmos.

Taking a deep breath before he whirled around to face John. A flicker of pity roared to life in his eyes as he spotted the zoned out look in his friend's eyes. “John,” Bobby called out to his friend, whose face barely changed to recognize Bobby was calling out to him. “John!” Bobby called his name a little more forcefully, causing John’s gaze to focus on him. Bobby took in a deep breath, knowing that it wouldn’t help the situation to come in arms swinging and guns ahoy; he knew John was sick. Had been for a long time.

His head just wasn’t screwed on right and god knows how long John had been without his meds. 

“John, you’re harming your kids. Sam and Dean are so damn twitchy to every little thing, they’re nearly afraid of their own shadows.”

Eyes so dark that Bobby thought they were pitch black, John scowled at his long time friend that he’d know well before the boys had ever been born. “I’m doing what I believe is right,” his voice was rife with emotion, his eyes wild and lit up with a spark that made the next words come out of his mouth sound so tangible if it weren’t insane. “I’m protecting my kids; I’m making sure that they’re strong enough to hunt down the monsters out there.” John hissed those last words, his eyes flitting toward the backdoor in the kitchen that lead out to the salvage yard as if he was afraid the imaginary demons in his head were going through burst through the door at any moment. 

Bobby didn’t know what to say, instead, he asked, “Are you taking your meds?” He knew it was a fruitless question, but there were times of clarity—rare times when even the hallucinations and voices became too much for John; when one of those voices said something that wasn’t normal the Winchester patriarch would take himself to a doctor who’d give him enough  Rexulti  to last him until he ran out. Then John would skip town, never see a doctor for months again and the hallucinations and voices would slowly come back.

John and the kids had been staying with Bobby and his wife for the past four days on their journey to god knows wherever John was dragging these kids too. The Singer’s had enough room to spare in their home for the three newest additions and Bobby knew that Karen enjoyed having Dean and Sam around. They were the children she could never have and she spoiled them rotten just the same.

He also knew that the kids were thankful for the few days of stability they would get out of the year, whenever John just didn’t roll up in his Impala and dump the kids off on the front porch with their backpacks containing their few belongings clutched to their chests whenever their dad felt it was beneficial to just drop them off at the Singer home in order to “keep them safe.”

As one of their conditions for having John stay with them, he had to see a doctor. Bobby took him last Wednesday night when the Winchesters had first shown up at his home. Bobby even dragged John to a local pharmacy to have his prescription filled. He knew his friends had him enough meds to last a month at most, he just didn’t know if John was taking them.

“I don’t need the devil’s poison clouding my mind,” John hissed, spittle flying from his mouth and landing onto the kitchen table.

In Bobby’s mind, he was staring down a rabid dog that didn’t even know it had gone mad. He simply shook his head; tired and fed up with John’s behavior and his refusal to fix it. “The kids are staying with me, John, and that’s final.”

He didn’t bother hearing what his friend had to say, instead, turning on his heels to open up the doors that connected the living room to the kitchen. The kids were engrossed in watching Tom and Jerry getting into hijinks on the beach. They looked at peace.

The kids’ backs were turned to Bobby as he walked into the room, his hand outstretched as he silently reached out to touch Dean’s shoulder. Forest green eyes expanded wildly in the kid’s head as Dean turned around and quickly smacked Bobby’s hand off of his shoulder.

The action confused him, Bobby’s brows wrinkling as he watched Dean’s eyes shimmer with a panic a kid his age should never have possessed. His own eyes bore into Dean’s as he searched them, the puzzle pieces snapping in his head with a sense of twisted disgust as he whirled on his feet and back into the kitchen where John was. His face was as red as a tomato. “You son of a bitch!” Bobby cried out as he lunged for John, dragging the man out of the chair he was sitting in and causing the wood to clatter onto the floor with a loud crash.

Curling his hand into a fist, he threw a solid punch that collided with John’s jaw, leaving bruised, reddened flesh behind. The punch sent John colliding into the edges of the kitchen counters, his back arching from impact, and a fit of frenzied anger in his eyes as he threw out his own punch that was aimed at Bobby’s side.

The kids came running into the kitchen, Dean immediately going for Bobby as he tried to push and pull him away from his dad. Sam standing in the corner of the kitchen, tears streaming down slightly chubby cheeks as he pleaded and screamed for Bobby to stop.

The front door crashed open as Bobby and John threw punches at the other; the sound of Rufus’ thick and heavy work boots pounding against the wooden floors reverberated in the house as he rushed into the kitchen and separated both men from each other. Bobby was breathing heavily when he turned to find Karen with Sam’s face pressed against her stomach.

A corner of John’s mouth was bleeding as he glared at Bobby and told the kids to gather their things as they were leaving. 

“You’re not leaving this house and taking the kids with you!” Bobby shouted as John went over to Karen and pried Sam out of her arms, “not over my dead body!” He made a move as if he was going to lunge for John again, but Rufus held him back.

Casting one final sweeping glance over everyone John left with the kids with Bobby’s curses and threats of violence following behind him.

**April 5, 1992**

Karen’s nails dug into the soft flesh of Bobby’s arms, her lips twisting with worry as both of them stared at the social worker sitting at the opposite side of the kitchen table. A manila folder was spread out between all three of them; a heavy, yet visible barrier in the room that had Karen gripping him for support less she collapses under the weight of her own stress.

Pictures of Sam and Dean were clipped to a stack of papers in the file; the corner of their faces visible and from the tight line on the social worker’s face, the way Karen’s face was pale and devoid of blood, Bobby just had half a mind to storm up from the table, hop into his truck, hunt down John and run him over.

Instead, he kept his lips welded tightly shut as the social worker brought her hands together, forcing her fingers into a steeple. “Mr. and Mrs. Singer, I know you were a close family friend to the Winchesters, before—” She glanced down at her notes, her brows pinching together, “their mother’s death, but unfortunately you aren’t next of kin and the state is deeming it more beneficial to place Dean and Sam with the state.” She paused, her eyes darkening as she seemed to collect her next words carefully, “especially given Dean’s most recent psychological evaluation. The state would be concerned that you’d  _ effectively _ be able to accommodate a child who’d need such significant help as Dean and Sam are going to appropriately need.”

Oh, Bobby knew damn well from the half-hour this social worker had been in his home just exactly what John had put Dean through; what he’d put both of his kids through.

“So the state feels that its best to place the children in its custody where hopefully they can be placed with either foster or adoptive parents.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting that happen,” Bobby growled out, his eyes narrowing even as Karen whipped her head to stare at him, her lips parting to admonish his outburst. Instead, Bobby barreled through, pointing a single finger at the social worker’s face. “I’ve heard all the horror stories about kids going into the system. About families exploiting the problems these kids already have, abusing them, and downright getting them just for the cash.”

The social worker inclined her head at Bobby’s points of opposition. “I will admit, Mr. Singer, that the system isn’t perfect, but is there any that is?”

“What’s the chance that Sam and Dean will end up in the same home together?” Karen’s nails loosened around Bobby’s arm.

“Truthfully, Sam has more of a chance to be adopted. He’s young still and...doesn’t require as much special care as Dean will need.”

Bobby drew in a sharp breath at her words, his nostrils flaring as he glared at her. “You’re not rippin’ those boys apart; they’re the only family each other has.”

For the first time, that afternoon the social worker’s eyes softened at Bobby’s words. “Mr. Singer, if I had the power in this situation it would be up to me, but it’s not.”

Karen fell silent, her lips pressed together in a pout as she softly shook her head. Bobby’s bottom lip trembled as he reached out to tap the corner of the picture that was visible amongst the sheets of paper. His voice cracked as he spoke, “We’re the only family these two have left. If you put those boys in foster care and rip ‘em apart, you’re just going to make the situation worse.”

“Unfortunately, Mr.Singer, in the eyes of the state. Doing that is a better solution. Unless you decide to fight this matter.”

And Bobby did. It was the most stressful time in his and Karen’s lives; having to deal with psychiatrists, home inspections, and showing that the two of them had enough income to take care of two kids was enough to drain the spirit out of anyone. There were times where Bobby woke up in the morning, wondering if he should give up and free himself from all of this stress just to adopt two kids who loved him like a surrogate father. But he would roll over, and look at the beaten-up baseball resting on his nightstand. Fond memories of teaching Dean how to catch and throw the ball in a local park fumbling in his mind, giving him the strength to get up and deal with all of the social workers coming to his home, trying to determine if he and his wife were a better outcome for two young kids. Especially given that their only other option was ending up in the foster system.

It was months of fighting with the family court, but the moment the judge heard all of the evidence from the Singer’s lawyer and the state’s representative attorney. Sam and Dean were sitting in seats next to the state’s attorney; in Bobby’s opinion, they looked like kids who’d seen shit more than most adults. The judge had smiled at the Singer’s once every bit of evidence had been presented to her and she had time to reconvene to her chambers to contemplate her decision. “Mr. and Mrs. Singer, you get to go home with your kids.”

Karen had broken down sobbing, her knees hitting the floor as Sam and Dean ran over to hug her. Bobby didn’t like to ever admit it but he sobbed that day too.

It was touch and go for them as they tried to ensure that the boys were comfortable with the new changes in their lives.

It was the middle of July when Karen frowned and turned around upon hearing Bobby come through the back door. He was covered in oil and grime from working on cars all day and had mud clinging to his boots. He knew she hated when he came in dirty and tracking grime all over the place and had his lips parted open to apologize in an afterthought when he noticed the pensive look warring across the surface of her face.

“Karen, is everythin’ alright?”

She frowned, opening a cupboard near her and peering into it as if contained some answers Bobby wasn’t privy to. “I swore I bought some animal crackers yesterday and a bunch of other stuff too, but I can’t find them.”

“Maybe you misplaced ‘em?” He suggested, going to the sink to wash the worst of the grime off of his hands and forearms. 

“Maybe,” she muttered as she slowly shut the cupboard. Her eyes lit up as she seemed to remember that she had more to tell him. “Bobby, Dean’s been wetting the bed recently and I found his bedsheets waddled up and shoved underneath his bed.” There was a worried tone to her words that had Bobby turning to face her; both of their mouths pressed together in hushed silence as neither one of them wanted to remember the meeting they had with that social worker and all the things she had to say about what child psychologists had noticed about Dean’s behaviors.

Instead, all Bobby did was grip the kitchen counter tightly with his fingers. “What the hell did John do to these kids?”

Later that day Karen took the kids out for ice cream and wanted to visit a new arcade that had opened up with them. Having a bunch of work around the house that he wanted to tackle, Bobby elected to stay behind. Heading upstairs, Bobby stopped as he passed by Sam’s bedroom, noticing a trail of snack crumbs from the hallway that lead into the bedroom. Following them as if he was Hansel in the witch’s forest, Bobby got down on his knees as he followed the crumbs to Sam’s bed. Lifting the bed skirt up, Bobby’s eyes slightly widened with shock, thousands of emotions flickering across his face in a slow and lazy flame. Pity came next, only to melt into disgust against John as he stared at the missing box of animal crackers, a jar of peanut butter, cheerios, and a bag of chips stashed underneath the bed as if Sam was terrified that all of this would suddenly be yanked away from him.

His throat felt tight as he made a mental note to tell Karen about this in private when she came home. He knew that if he walked into Dean’s room he’d undoubtedly find the same situation underneath his bed. A tired sigh ripped itself from the hollow of Bobby’s throat as he vowed to the universe to kill John if he ever saw him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: May 22


	11. Apologies and New Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I spend half of this chapter writing about two people making out? Yes. Do I regret anything? No.

**June 4, 2005 **

A sharp knock on the door tore Castiel’s attention away from the screen of his computer. Sighing, he ripped a pair of black rectangular glasses away from his face, that exposed the tired wrinkles around his eyes and set them down beside his mouse as he rose from his chair.

His back popped from having sat down for what seemed like hours; throwing his arms over his head, he walked out of his home office and made his way through the house until he reached the front door and threw it open. The small sliver of the crescent moon that was visible in the night sky cast slivers of moonlit rays down onto his front lawn.

The street lamps lining the neighborhood lit up whatever the rays couldn’t, exposing the dew-covered summer grass and more importantly the man standing on Castiel’s porch.

Surprise colored his face at first, but it was swiftly kicked into the garbage can and replaced by cold fury.

“What are you doing here?” His thick voice rumbled dangerously with a growl. A predator’s tone that revealed they weren’t in the mood for what was coming for them.

Dean looked sheepish as he blinked at Castiel. His forest green eyes sparkling in the moonlight as they briefly flickered to glance over Castiel’s shoulder and into the house. “Where’s Claire? I brought a gift for her.” As if to demonstrate his point, Dean slightly lifted the powder blue gift bag he was carrying with him, the Build-a-Bear logo was displayed on its face.

Anger rolled through Castiel like a slow-moving storm as he stared at Dean; his eyes narrowed, two pools swimming with frozen glaciers. 

“You have a gift for her Dean?” His voice was harsh, barely even a whisper really, but Dean flinched from the tone of it, “I haven’t heard from you in a little over a month. For starters, you could tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”

Guilt painted itself over Dean’s face as he let his shoulders fall. “Look, I’ve been dealing with some...personal stuff. My adoptive father was also in town and I was looking after him until he left yesterday.” Castiel notes that Dean doesn’t even bother to mention why his adoptive father was in town in the first place or the fact that he was adopted, but he doesn’t push the matter, instead he only presses his lips together.

“Do you know how many times I called? Texted you? I was worried about you, Dean.”

“Look, I know,” Dean sighs, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, the skin around his nose and cheeks wrinkled slightly making the light sprinkling of freckles on his skin a little bit more apparent. “And I know that no matter how much I apologize it isn’t going to make up for the bullshit I caused you.” Pulling his hand away from the bridge of his nose, Castiel’s breath was caught up in the hollow of his throat as peered into the soft light of Dean’s eyes. “I just want another chance.”

“Daddy,” a soft child’s voice entangled with the deep rivers of sleep caused Dean and Castiel to stare at Claire as she walked down the hall. Her hair was sticking up all over the place, the white nightshirt she wore with purple sleeves was slightly hiked up amidst the numerous tosses and turns she had made in her sleep that exposed the baby fat of her stomach. Purple pajama pants that were slightly too long for her dragged against the hardwood floors as she marched toward her father. Her eyes still shut with sleep as she zombie marched her way to the door, her tiny hand clutching a dark blanket with the Batman logo stamped on it. 

Reaching up, Claire rubbed the sleep out of her left eye, cracking it open she stopped in her tracks. Alertness flooding her veins as she dropped the hold on her blanket, pushed past her dad’s legs and flung herself at Dean. “Dean!” She squealed as she launched herself at his leg and immediately began to cry.

Fat tears rolling themselves down her cheeks as she clung to his leg, tipping her head backward her blue eyes were shimmering with tears as she sobbed, “I thought you hated us and didn’t want to come back here anymore.”

Guilt rattled itself inside of Dean’s chest, prying Claire from his leg, he kept a hand upon her shoulder as he bent down on one knee. His eyes shimmering with warmth and deep regret that even Claire could sense. “I’m sorry,” he told her, “I was dealing with some adult issues and I couldn’t come over for a little while. But I promise that I’ll come over as often as I can to see you.” Dean glanced up at Castiel, hope burning in the deepest depths of his eyes that had Castiel’s furious edge unraveling by the second.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel swallowed the ball of raging hot anger that had settled itself into his throat. “Fine,” he sighed, his eyes shimmering with a thinly veiled threat as he stared at Dean.  _ Hurt my daughter again and I’ll make sure your death looks like a heart attack _ .

It caused Dean to shiver slightly in fear even as Claire was jumping for joy between the two men. 

“We can play Batman and Robin and fight villains together!” Claire shouted at the top of her lungs, it caused a smile to worm its way on Dean’s face. A lightbulb burned brightly in his head as he remembered the gift he brought over for her.

“I got you something,” Dean motioned to the bag he was still holding and held it out for her to take it.

Wordlessly Claire turned her head and tilted it slightly to glance up at her father for wordless permission. Nodding his head slightly, she reached out and took the bag from Dean, holding it open she pulled out a black teddy bear dressed up in a Batman costume. Pressing her nose to the fur, she could smell the calming scents of freshly cut flowers; her eyes were wide with excitement as she pulled her face away from the bear’s fur and thanked Dean for the gift at the top of her lungs before launching herself at his legs once more.

A smile stretched its way across his face as Castiel insisted Claire go back to her bed and that she could see Dean some other time.

Hugging her new bear tightly, Claire turned, picked up her blanket, and made her way down the hall to the steps that lead to the second floor. As soon as she had left, Castiel sighed deeply as he stared at Dean. His lips twisting as he seemed at war with himself until he urged Dean to come inside.

Stepping into the Novak home, Dean didn’t know what to expect. Castiel had every right to be pissed at him right now; he just suddenly came into his and Claire’s life, bonded with them, and dropped off the face of the Earth harder than a person who was out to fake their own death. He didn’t deserve any of the kindness that Castiel was willing to extend to him. The proverbial olive branch of peace that Dean knew would come with thorns and brambles attached to it, to draw the blood from his hand, barely a fraction of the hurt and pain that he’d inflicted onto the Novaks.

Castiel must have sensed Dean’s unease as his eyes drank him in with a steady gaze. “I just want to talk, I’m not going to murder you.”

Leading him into the kitchen, Castiel headed toward the cupboard to draw out a Highball glass, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder, an eyebrow cocked on his face. Jerking the glass slightly in his hand toward Dean, he asked him, “Do you want a drink?”

Staring apprehensively at the glass, Dean nodded. Plucking a second glass from the interior of the cupboard, Castiel set them down on the kitchen island and set about filling up the glasses a quarter of the way with a dark bourbon.

Pushing a glass in front of Dean, Castiel picked up his own and slowly sipped on it, feeling the smooth burn of the bourbon coursing over his tongue as it slid down his throat. Hints of the full-bodied alcohol and the oaky taste of the wood it’d been aged in flooding the surface of his mouth.

“Look, Dean,” Castiel’s voice was thick and raw from the bourbon, deep with a tremor that had Dean coughing into his fist from his saliva going down the wrong pipe. “I don’t know what truly happened and Sam didn’t tell me much either, but I just want you to know I’m here for you.” His eyes darkened till it resembled the deep color of peacock feathers. “But I won’t forgive you if you ever hurt or break my daughter’s heart.” He paused, looking down into the depths of his glass, he swirled the amber liquid in it around as if it would produce the words that he wanted to say. “She likes you a lot Dean...and I don’t want to see my baby get hurt because of it.”

Nodding sharply at him, Dean had barely touched his own drink. “I wouldn’t ever hurt Claire. Ever.” 

There was a sharp silence that both men could have cut with a knife as Castiel continued to swirl the bourbon around in his glass. Bringing it to his lips he tipped his head back and downed the rest of the contents which slightly alarmed Dean. “Good,” Castiel grumbled, voice thick from shotgunning the bourbon down as if it was water. His eyes were half-lidded and dark which made a part of Dean’s brain think he was pretty damn tired and felt guilty for having come over so late, but he froze when Castiel placed the glass he was holding down onto the counter and slowly made his way over to Dean as if the Winchester was a prey in the wild and Castiel was the panther that was stalking his way toward him.

Teeth dripping with saliva and slow languid movements that made Dean’s brain shortcircuit as Castiel stood mere inches away from him. Not quite close enough that he was invading Dean’s personal space, but close enough that in any other person’s eyes it was deemed as more than appropriate for two people who couldn’t quite classify their relationship as “friends.”

Castiel was staring into Dean’s eyes; he noticed the ring of hazel amongst the forest of green that made Dean’s eyes appear so soft and tender, full of secrets that Castiel wanted to pry open with his fingers and lay them all bare before him. Lips parting open, Castiel whispered, “Claire likes you a lot...but so do I.”

Eyes widening in shock, Dean’s own lips unsealed themselves; his throat dry as he tried to drum up something in his brain to say. But it was like his very brain cells had pulled all the plugs, hung up a sign indicating that the little cells he had that controlled the rational part of him had gone on vacation, leaving behind cobwebs and dust mites. Instead the few cells that had been left behind were screaming in shock, running around his head as they trashed the interior of his mind. He watched Castiel reach out and touch the side of his body, his thumb brushing against his clothed ribs as he stared at Dean with half-lidded eyes. 

A test. 

A question. 

Everything wrapped up into one singular touch and one single moment.

He was waiting to see what Dean did. Whether he brush Castiel’s hand off of him or reach out to touch him too. Dean didn’t make a movement, which he knew the dark-haired man took as an invitation. 

Leaning forward, Castiel tipped his head back slightly as he pressed soft lips against Dean’s plush own. In the future Dean would never know how to classify this kiss.

His first kiss had been with a girl when he was 14; Amanda Richardson, the daughter of a dentist who Dean would always remember as having sparkly white teeth. She was a redhead with the prettiest brown eyes Dean had ever seen. They’d been “dating” for a week before Amanda had taken Dean behind the bleachers of their high school homecoming game. She’d pressed her lips against his and he hadn’t known what to expect.

Her lips had tasted like strawberry chapstick and the ice tea she’d drank earlier in the day. It was sloppy and wet, but it didn’t set off those proverbial fireworks that always seemed to happen in romance movies when the couple had their first kiss. Instead, the only thing that had set off fireworks for him was Amanda had taken his hand and placed it on her boob.

But now, in the present, there was a lot happening to Dean. With his lips pressed against Castiel’s, his whole body was ringing. An electric current that raced itself up his spine and spread out to every single nerve ending in his body; an electric shock that had him gasping slightly, only for Castiel to tilt his head to the side, their noses brushing against each other, his hand sliding up Dean’s ribs to grip at the back of his head as he kissed Dean deeply.

The mechanic’s eyes were blown wide as he tasted the bourbon on Castiel’s lips; his cheeks heating up as lights danced in his eyes, the current in his body making every part of him tingle with a warmth he had never felt in his entire life. Tongue snaking between his lips, Dean all but melted in Castiel’s arms. They were so close together that Dean could smell the deep, rich scents of his cologne, the lavender shampoo he used to wash his hair, and the deep rich notes of the bourbon he had drunk. 

It was an intoxicating touch that drowned every one of Dean’s senses in Castiel’s touch, smell, and taste. It was a fever dream he never hoped to ever wake up from again as Castiel drank in Dean’s quivering lips, the sweet taste of his mouth, and the slippery curl of his tongue that was as sweet as a honeybee chasing after nectar.

If Dean was a symphony, Castiel hoped he would never come to an end as he pressed their bodies closer together, his other hand sliding to press itself against Dean’s lower back only to slide down once more to the curve of his ass.

Humming with no objection at the action, Castiel smiled into the kiss as he fitted his own body against the curves and planes of Dean’s. Two puzzle pieces that had found each other among a sea of other pieces only to find that they fit together perfectly.

A warm fuzziness blanketed itself in Dean’s mind as he found he wasn’t quite certain what to do with his own hands. Where should he touch? Where did Castiel like to be touched? They were questions that rang in the hollow of his mind as he lost himself in the warm, heated depths of Castiel’s mouth.

“Daddy, can I have some water.” 

Dean’s eyes snapped open, unsure of when he had ever closed them. A longing whimper pulled itself from his mouth as Castiel pulled away from him, their mouths splitting apart as both men turned their attention toward the entryway of the kitchen where Claire was standing, staring at both men with sleep riddled eyes.

Tongue darting out to probe at his kiss swollen lips, Castiel spoke, “Claire,” he paused his voice unnaturally deep in a way that made Dean’s brain go static again, “go back to bed, sweetie, I’ll bring you a glass of water.”

Standing there for what seemed like an eternity, Claire turned on her heels and waddled her way back toward her bedroom.

A soft laugh rumbled in Castiel’s throat as he leaned forward to rest his head against Dean’s shoulder, his lips brushing against the thin skin that served as the juncture between his shoulder and neck. “I should have done that a long time ago,” the man whispered, his gaze flickering to the shocked and wide-eyed look on Dean’s face that had him pulling back.

Apologies spluttering past his lips, his own eyes going wide with panic. “I shouldn’t have done that,” Castiel spluttered, his cheeks darkening to a rosy color. “I’m so stupid!” He admonished himself, his hand flying to smack against his forehead. “God, I don’t even know if you like guys, to begin with!”

Clearing his throat with a fist pressed against his lips, Dean’s cheeks heated up as he mumbled, “I’m not uh...solely attracted to women.”

Castiel seemed breathless as he gazed at Dean. Lust, excitement, and potential warring in his eyes as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb against Dean’s ass, his hand still cupped against the flesh.

Not that Dean minded of course.

“I can work with that,” Castiel sighed contentedly, pressing his lips against the juncture of Dean’s neck. “I guess I better bring Claire her water.” Pulling his head back slightly, he tipped his chin up to stare into Dean’s eyes. “But at some point we should talk, not right now, but sometime later.” 

Dean nodded, his cheeks still warm as his vision flickered to the neon green numbers on the kitchen microwave. “It’s late, I should probably get home.”

Castiel saw him out, even as Dean climbed into his car and drove home, his brain was still fuzzy from the kiss. Every other moment his hand would float up to his lips and rub the pads of his fingers against the slightly plump flesh as if he couldn’t believe what had just occurred was real.

Entering his apartment, he kicked off his shoes and fell onto the soft surface of his mattress, his cheek pressed against the sheets, eyes snapping shut as he thought about the way Castiel’s lips had felt against his. A pair of petal-soft lips that had tasted sweet when they were against his.

A kiss that had tasted like a symphony; an experience that opened up doors that Dean had dreamt of before. He remembered the way Castiel’s body had felt unbelievably hot against his, a furnace of masculinity and tenderness wrapped into one; the way Castiel’s half-hard erection had brushed against his thigh.

Dean’s cheeks warmed up, turning a shade deeper at the memory of it all. Rolling onto his back, he closed his eyes, letting the kiss replay in the deepest depths of his mind, his hand slipped underneath the waistband of his jeans, fingers wrapping around the stiff erection he’d been sporting since Castiel had touched his ass and lost himself in the pleasure of creating some new memories.

Ones that had him tipping his head back against his sheets, the muscles in his body quivering with each touch and Castiel’s name falling from his lips like a forgotten prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter has some of my fave dialogue that I've ever written.
> 
> Next update: June 5


	12. Unspoken Secrets

**June 6, 2005**

Crowley’s dark eyes bore into Castiel’s face with a look of mock disgust; a jelly donut dusted in powdered sugar that was half-eaten hovered in front of his mouth. His eyes briefly flickered to the sweet pastry he was holding, a resolute sigh coming from the depths of his chest as he set his donut down on the napkin before him in disgust.

“Alright, cough it out. What the hell made you look so happy? Did this mystery crush of yours finally shag you?”

Castiel who’d been busy pouring fresh coffee grinds into the machine, staring happily into space like he’d seen a fucking leprechaun prancing around the hospital floors, rolled his eyes at Crowley’s question. “We didn’t,” he huffed through his nose, “in fact I kissed him last night.” There was a smugness to his words that had Crowley gasping in the way that a professional actor would on a drama. Pressing a hand against his chest, he battered his eyelashes in Castiel’s direction.

“Wow and was it as magical as they say it is in the fairy tales?”

“You’re a real demon, you know that?” Castiel snorted as the coffee machine beeped to let him know that it was done. Turning he grabbed a coffee cup and poured himself out some of the fresh, hot coffee. “I hope you get a heart condition in your sleep.”

Batting his eyelashes at Castiel, Crowley snorted sharply watching his coworker add creamer and other additions to his coffee. “Ohh,” Crowley cooed, “that should definitely be your go to line of foreplay with your new beau. It’ll get him hot and heavy.”

Lips pursing together, a retort was piecing itself together in his brain when he heard his phone chirp from the interior of his pocket. Pulling his phone out, he checked it to see that he got a text from Dean asking if he was free around lunch to talk. Castiel quickly texted him back that he’s at work and would be able to meet up with him later.

When he looked up there was a smug look on Crowley’s face that had the surgeon scoffing in annoyance as he flipped Crowley the middle finger.

It was much later when Castiel finally arrived home to spot Dean sitting on the steps of his porch. Unstrapping Claire from her car seat, he set her down on the driveway. The moment her feet had even touched the ground she was already racing toward Dean.

“Dean!” Claire’s tiny hands grasped his knees as Dean let out a laugh, scooping her up to place her down in his lap. His fingers tickled her stomach, sending her into a fit of giggles that didn’t subside until he pulled his fingers away. “Dean,” she hiccuped as the laughter rolled out of her belly, “are you coming to my birthday party?”

“When is that?” Dean glanced up, directing his question at Castiel.

“The 24th of this month,” Castiel answered him as he walked toward the porch, a small over the shoulder bag that he used whenever Claire went to preschool was tossed over his shoulder. 

A smile bloomed on the surface of Dean’s face as he glanced at Claire. “I’ll be happy to attend your party.”

Castiel was climbing the porch when he offered for Dean to come inside. Still holding Claire, Dean rose up from the porch steps. He followed Castiel into the home, where he set Claire down on the living room floor as her father told her he and Dean would be in the kitchen as he prepared her afternoon snack.

Following Castiel into the kitchen, Dean couldn’t help but tune into the nervousness he felt at the prospect of showing up to a party where a chunk of the guests would be little kids. Hanging out with Claire was easy and fine to him; almost second nature at this point, but a whole gaggle of kids? That just spelled like trouble to Dean.

“You seem nervous,” Castiel remarked as he sliced slivers off of a block of cheddar to place them on a plate topped with crackers and a side of grapes.

Dean was starting to become certain that Castiel had a way of reading him that no other person on this planet could aside from Sam and Bobby. “I am nervous. I’ve never been around a bunch of kids before, much less attended a kid's birthday party, Cas.”

“Cas?” Castiel’s lips fumbled around the unusual shortening of his name, his tongue tasting it as if it was an odd flavor of ice cream that Dean had placed before him. There was a lilting tint of humor in his voice, the way his lips split into a grin as he lifted his head to stare at Dean.

“I can’t keep calling you Castiel forever,” Dean gruffed, “your name is a few syllables too long.”

Snorting, Castiel slid the knife through the block of cheese one more, letting the sliver fall into his hand so he could snack upon it. “I didn’t say it was bad...just different, but a type of different that I like.” He leaned against the counter, his eyes flickering with a warmth over Dean’s face. “Don’t worry about the party; there’ll be adults there too, but I’ve seen how amazing you are with Claire so you’re going to do fine with the other kids.”

His face warmed up as Castiel’s smile flooded him with warmth. Dean’s tongue flickered out between the seam of his lips to wet them. “What should I get her? For her birthday?”

Castiel slowly munched on the cheese pinched between his two fingers. Contemplation washed across his face as if he was going to tell Dean exactly what sort of gift to get her, but he didn’t. “Surprise her. I’m certain she’ll love it.”

Even with all the encouragement, Castiel was giving him, Dean couldn’t help but let the fear flood through him. The fear that he wasn’t enough, the fear that he wouldn’t belong at the party. “Are you sure you’re going to want me there?”

Castiel’s brows knitted themselves together, “Why would you ask that?”

“I’m just a mechanic you met a few months ago.”

“Dean,” Castiel clucked his tongue in admiration, leaning against the counter so that he was able to reach out and touch Dean’s hand with his own. “You’re kind and compassionate and Claire wants you at her party. Don’t worry so much about it, okay?” 

Glancing up at the kitchen clock, Dean heavily sighed through his nose. “I have to get to work, but we’ll talk later?”

Dean left a bit after that, not after stopping in the living room to tell Claire that he was leaving for work. The little tyke had tried to give him one of her Batman toys to take with him. Politely declining despite her insistence, Dean arrived at work nearly half an hour later.

Garth was doing a routine inspection on a Chevy Silverado when he glanced up upon noticing Dean. “Hey, Dean! Some older guy came by earlier and was looking for you by name.”

Cocking a single brow on his face, he asked, “Did you catch the guy’s name?” Garth shook his head. Pushing what Garth had told him to the back of his mind, Dean had been confident that day that the universe was looking out for him.

Little did he know how wrong he had been.

**June 24, 2005**

It was the day of Claire’s birthday party, the sound of a gaggle of kids screaming as they played loudly with each other in the backyard only to race into the house for snacks, drinks, or other necessities.

Castiel was standing on the deck, arms loosely crossed in front of him, a smile blossoming across his face as he watched a soaking wet Dean running away from a group of 20 kids who were all tossing water balloons at him. Claire was leading the pack, running across the grass in the new Batman-themed sneakers that Dean had gotten her, the LED lights at the bottom of them dazzled faintly in the strong summer sun.

“Castiel,” turning his head at the sound of his name and a sharp tap on his shoulder, he found Oliver’s—a young boy in Claire’s preschool class—mother standing behind him. “There’s someone for you at the front door.”

He thanked her as he made his way back into the house and through the hall to reach the front door. He threw it open, his eyebrows knitting together upon seeing an unfamiliar man standing upon his porch. A mocha brown button-up was stretched over thick shoulders, soft brown eyes stared inquisitively at Castiel, who narrowed his eyes in a distorted sense of deja vu that washed over him. An odd sense tingled in the back of Castiel’s mind that he knew this man standing before him; this man with dark brown hair and a thick beard and mustache, with silver hair tugging on his chin. There was something about him that gave Castiel the sense he’d seen the man before without ever actually having met his acquaintance.

“Can I help you?” Castiel asked him, the corner of his mouth pinching with uncertainty as he tried to determine if the man before him was the husband of any of the moms who came to the party or the father of any of the kids who were currently chasing Dean in his backyard.

“Is Dean Winchester here, by any chance?” The man’s voice was deep; the low thrum of a bass guitar. “I’m sorry if this seems so abrupt, but I swung by the repair shop and his coworker said that he might be here.”

Staring the man down carefully, Castiel reluctantly opened the front door a little wider for the man. Leading him into the kitchen, Castiel told him that he’d fetch Dean and be back quickly. Making his way out to the backyard again, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled Dean’s name.

Dean set down Claire from his shoulders, running over to stand before Castiel, a bright smile was stretched across his face. “What do you need?”

“There’s a guy in the kitchen who’s looking for you.”

“Did he say who he was?”

Castiel shook his head, his brows pinching together. “No, but he says he knows you.” There was a look of concern that flitted across Castiel’s face; a concern that had unease sloshing uneasily in the pit of Dean’s stomach, even as he offered a comforting smile to reassure him. 

Making his way into the kitchen, Dean paused in the entryway, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to process what he was seeing before him. His brain raced through a series of rational explanations; that what he was witnessing was a hallucination, a fabrication of his mind. That the man standing in the kitchen couldn’t be who he believed it was

“Dad?” His voice was raw, a whisper of what it usually was forcing that single word; that single word wrapped up in decades of complex emotions to come out sounding cracked like he was going through puberty all over again.

John Winchester cracked a smile at his eldest son as if he hadn’t left Dean and Sam alone; hadn’t let them get taken away by Child Protective Services when they were kids and left them alone without a letter, a call, even a fucking message via pigeon bird to ask them how they were doing. He smiled as if he hadn’t walked out on his own children years ago as if everything was alright and there wasn’t any bad blood between them.

Instead, John Winchester strode across the room to Dean, pulling him into a tight hug which he didn’t return until John’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him away slightly so he could get a look at his son. “Aren’t you happy to see your old man?”

Dean doesn’t know what to say; there’s so much he wants to say, but the only thing that manages to spill out between his lips is: “What happened to you when we were adopted?”

There’s a dark flicker across John’s face as if he was hoping Dean wouldn’t bring it up, that Dean would just act like their relationship wasn’t flawed as if he was a kid once more. “I had a few things to do, son,” his tone was almost apologetic.  _ Almost _ . “Besides, it seems like you and Sam were happier at Bobby’s.”

There was something about his words that pissed Dean off. “That’s beside the point,” he hissed.

John looked taken aback by Dean’s words, his lips parting to say something only to be cut off by a child’s voice.

“Dean?”

Turning slightly, Dean found Claire standing just slightly behind him, her eyes brimming with curiosity as they flickered from Dean to his father. A smile stretched across John’s face as he stooped down to stare at Claire. “Hello, little girl, what’s your name?”

“I’m Claire. Today’s my birthday!”

“Well happy birthday to you,” his smile was all pristine white teeth and gums, “how old are you now?”

Claire held up five fingers on one of her hands, causing John to laugh even as Dean stepped between them, shielding Claire behind him as he reached out and pulled her closer to his body. His heart was slamming inside of his chest as he didn’t know why he made such an action, but part of his brain didn’t trust his father, didn’t trust his motivations for being there.

“Dean, is everything okay?” Castiel appeared behind Dean, he scooped up Claire into his arms before placing a comforting hand on Dean’s bicep.

John’s mouth pulled into a crooked smile as his eyes flickered uncomfortably between Castiel’s hand and Dean’s face. “It seems I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he paused, his fingers twiddling with each other, “Dean, we’ll talk later?” He waited to see what response his son would give.

Tersely, Dean nodded his head, not even sparing a glance to watch his father leave or Castiel walking him to the door. He returned to the party with Claire and Castiel, but he just didn’t seem like his normal, enthusiastic self. He put on a smile for the kids, but from the way Castiel observed him, he knew something about Dean’s interaction with the man who’d come to his home had set him in a bad mood.

When the party was over and everyone had said goodbye, Dean was helping Castiel clean up. 

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, “I don’t want to push you but if you want to talk about earlier with whoever that guy was we can.”

Dean didn’t say anything as he picked up a plate of half-eaten food and tossed it into the trash bag he held in one hand. “He was my dad,” Dean finally spoke after what seemed like an eternity.

_ Oh _ .

“Oh,” Castiel drew in in a hushed whisper, “oh, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, cutting off whatever it was that Castiel planned on saying to him. “Cas, I don’t really feel like talking about it, can we just...not?”

“Of course,” Castiel told him, the two resuming cleaning up. By the time they were done, Castiel had set Claire down for her afternoon nap. Dean was about to leave when he was stopped at the front door.

“Dean, I know this is a really weird time, but do you want to go to the beach with Claire and me?”

A soft smile stretched across his face like watercolor paints stretching across a canvas. He told Castiel yes, before leaving and heading back to his own apartment, where the first thing he did before even kicking off his shoes was to call Bobby.

“Boy, what do you need now?”

“My father showed up today,” there was no cushioning for the blow that Dean delivered.

He all but thought that the connection for their call dropped, when Bobby’s gruff voice replied back, “What?”

“Bobby, did he ever reach out to you when we were kids?”

“Dean—” There was a pleading sound to Bobby’s voice like he was pleading for Dean to not open a door that he didn’t comprehend.

“Bobby, please.”

An exasperated sigh pulled itself out of Bobby, “John tried to reach out  _ once _ , but only once. When Sam and you were kids; he dropped by the house while both of you were at school and begged for me to give him a chance. Remember when we took that trip to the mall right before Karen got sick?”

“I remember,” Dean told him, memories swirling in his head of all four of them taking a trip to the mall right before Karen, his adoptive mother, got diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

“Well he never showed up Dean, I gave him three hours. Three hours more than I’d give anyone and he never showed up. I’m telling you, Dean, don’t be too excited that he’s back again; he disappointed you more times than I can count, what makes you think this time is any different?”

“He’s my dad, Bobby.”

He didn’t allow Bobby to say anything else to him, he hung up his phone and tossed it onto the couch. Sighing, he sat down on the couch, his head in his hands as he tried to make sense of this whole situation.

**June 25, 2005**

A loud knock on his apartment door had Dean shooting up from the couch, the bowl of frosted flakes and milk that he had balanced in his hand sloshed dangerously as he set it down on the coffee table as he hopped to his feet. Walking to the door, he threw it open and was surprised to see his dad on the other side.

Excitement washed over Dean as he ushered his dad into the apartment. “There’s this pie place about 15 minutes away that’s really cool and the two of us could go to.”

A wry smile worked its way across John’s face as he wrung his hands together. “Dean.” Though the way he said his name was soft, there was an air of disappointment entangled with it.

“You have to go,” Dean whispered, taking a step back away from his dad; his eyes normally vivid with life seemed dull and dead.

“Just for a few days.” John tried to explain himself, “I uh...have a couple of things to do, but I’ll be back in a week or two; whenever it’s best for me to catch a flight out. You understand how it is right?”

Dean doesn’t, but he nods anyway.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” John promised Dean, “And then me, you, and Sammy can go to that pie place you mentioned. Catch up like the old times?”

“Sure,” Dean nodded again, his tone chilly enough that even John flinched at it. He let him out of the apartment and slammed the door shut the moment John had entered the hallway.

He should have listened to Bobby.

**June 26, 2005**

Sunlight sparkled down on crystal blue water, waves lapped at the sand as Claire vibrated with excited childlike energy as her father lowered her to the ground.

“Claire,” Castiel tutted his tongue as he wiped his head to the side just as his daughter was about to run off toward the beach, “please hold Dean’s hand, I don’t need a mermaid coming and trying to take you away.”

Claire smiled up at Dean as she reached out to grasp his hand just as Castiel was pulling the cooler that held drinks and their lunch, a beach towel, umbrella, and a drawstring bag out of the car. Forcing him to hand him some things so that he could carry them, Dean and the Novaks made their way down to the beach.

It was a warm day with clear skies as Castiel set out the beach towel and propped the umbrella into the sand. The two men helped Claire build a sandcastle with stones and seashells that she found as she puttered around in the sand.

An hour had passed when Claire asked Dean to go into the water with her; one quick look at Castiel, who urged his daughter to wait so Dean could take her to the ocean. It was a quick turn around for both men, Dean grabbing the sunscreen to make sure his arms and legs were covered and Castiel to grab a towel to dry Claire off when both men turned around to find Claire wasn’t anywhere near them.

Alarm slammed in Dean’s throat as he hopped to his feet, his eyes raking up and down the half crowded beach as he ran toward the ocean, Castiel’s voice traveling after him as he called out his daughter’s name. As he approached the water, he saw Claire wadding in it. The water ebbed and flowed around her tiny frame as she floated in the salty brine.

“Claire,” Dean sighed, his lips pursed as he walked into the ocean to kneel before her. “What did Dad say about waiting?”

Pouting at him, Claire muttered that she was sorry as the ocean waves pulled away from her body, gently jostling her as Dean reached out for her hand to walk her back up to where they’d been sitting. The waves behind them surged forward again, blanketing Dean in water, his body reacting quicker than his brain did as he tensed up, his grip on Claire’s hand tightening and his mind freezing. When the waves pulled away from him, Dean was shaking like a leaf, his breath labored as he squeezed his eyes shut and found himself unable to think about anything else besides a dingy motel bathroom and water being pulled into his lungs.

He could faintly hear a child crying and sand being kicked up by feet coming toward them. The little hand in his was wrenched out of his grasp as a comforting touch was placed upon his arm.

Glancing at Dean, Castiel could see the wild fear dancing in his eyes, the way his body was trembling, and how he seemed to be struggling to draw in a breath. Reaching out, he wrapped a hand around Dean’s arm and forced him to stand. “Come on, we’re going home.”

It was an uneventful ride home, with Dean sitting in the passenger seat of the car, the side of his head pressed against the glass, and Claire still sniffling as she drummed her feet against the seat. Once they’d arrived home, Castiel got everything inside, forced Dean to sit on the sofa in the living room, put on The Office on the television, and set Claire down in her room.

When he came back downstairs he found Dean already passed out on the couch from the aftermath of his panic attack.

Sighing to himself, Castiel scrubbed a hand through his hair as he turned on his heels and headed back up the stairs to check on his daughter. Claire was playing with her Batman action figure and a Barbie doll when he walked into the room.

“Daddy, is something wrong with Dean?” She questioned as Castiel took a seat beside her.

Sighing softly, Castiel scratched at the back of his neck as he wondered how to choose his words carefully around his daughter. “Sometimes sweetie, people can be sick physically so that’s why they need people like Daddy to make them feel better. But sometimes, people can be sick mentally.”

“Men-ti-lly?” Claire scrunched her nose up at the unfamiliar word, “What does that mean?”

“Sometimes people can have bad things that happen to them that give them nightmares or make them nervous when they remember it.”

“Is that what happened to Dean today?”

He tells her yes and watches in startled amusement as she launches up and grabs her Batman toy and a bunch of others that she has and loads them into her arms. A grin was stretched across her face as she loudly announced that she was planning on putting her toys around Dean so he could be protected in his sleep and not have nightmares.

Hours later Dean awoke on the couch, blinking hazily until his eyes narrowed open, his brain snapping to alertness as he slowly took in the plethora of toys that surrounded the couch in a semicircle.

“You’re up?”

Dean notices Castiel coming into the living room and nods, “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly 9,” he answers as he motions to the toys surrounding the couch, “Claire didn’t want you to have nightmares so she put the toys around you.”

Dean thinks that’s sweet. “I’m sorry for what happened at the beach earlier.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel responds with a quick shake of his head. He makes his way over to the couch, tiptoeing over the toys just as Dean sits up. His eyes flickered uncertainty over to Dean as he selected his words carefully. “Do you want to talk about what happened at the beach?”

From the way, Dean seemed to pause and let his upper teeth sink into his bottom lip that Dean doesn’t want to talk about it, but he watches Dean form a fist with his right hand and use his left to cover it as he tells Castiel that he isn’t ready to talk about it...not yet that is.

All he can do is nod and offer to drive Dean home, but Dean shakes his head, says he’ll be fine enough to make the journey home by himself.

“‘Night, Cas,” Dean whispers as he rises up from the couch and heads out of the house, leaving Castiel behind with a thousand competing thoughts.

**August 26, 2005**

Nearly a month after the beach incident and Dean is relaxing on his couch, a trio of ketchup slathered fries in his hand and  _ Dr. Sexy, M.D. _ playing on the screen. Dr. Sexy was on-screen covered in blood, the hospital triage having been hit with an entourage of patients after a horrible pileup on the highway. Dr. Sexy had just discovered in the last episode that ended with a cliffhanger that one of the patients coming in that needed life-saving surgery was his fiance, whom the nurses had just discovered was pregnant—a fact Dr. Sexy was unaware of—and were struggling to figure out how to save her life and the baby.

Dean was so engrossed in the show that he grunted in annoyance when his phone began to ring where it was resting on the coffee table. Tossing a glance at it, his eyebrows pinched together at the unfamiliar number, but he ignored it, chalking up the number to a telemarketer as he took a bite of his burger. The ringing came to a blissful end, causing Dean to turn his attention back to the show just as Dr. Sexy prepared to operate on his fiance. Just as it seemed to have ended, the ringing came again, forcing Dean to lean forward, flip his phone open and jam his thumb against the end call button.

Setting the phone back down on the table, Dean perked up as the nurse assisting Dr. Sexy on the surgery shouted, “She’s losing too much blood! We have to call in the OBGYN to perform an emergency C-section!”

Dean didn’t get to hear Dr. Sexy’s response as his phone rang yet again. Snatching his phone up, Dean jammed his thumb against the accept call button and pressed his phone to his ear. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it,” he snapped into the phone.

“Wait, please,” Dean frowned at the voice on the other end of the phone, it sounded  _ way  _ too young to be a telemarketer, but it wasn’t hard to identify the voice as belonging to a teenage boy, “Is this Dean Winchester?”

“Yes, who is this?”

If Dean could have gone back in time, smacked himself in the face and warned himself of this moment, he wouldn’t have believed himself, but instead, he sat there unprepared for a single sentence that would alter his life forever. 

“I’m, uh, Adam....your half-brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀 I wonder what could happen next.................
> 
> Next update: June 19


	13. Hidden Cradles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops a day late, but better later than never.

**Present Day**

Breath caught in the hollow of his throat, Dean felt like an elephant was sitting in the middle of his chest when he finally breathed out, “Listen, if this is a joke I don’t have time for it. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait,” Adam—his half-brother; his  _ alleged _ half-brother—cried out on the other end of the phone call. “I know what I’m saying doesn’t sound like the truth, but it is. Listen, I’m in California right now visiting my aunt for summer vacation and I’m not leaving until September 1st to go back to Minnesota. Listen, can you and Sam just meet me at a local mom and pop shop? So both of us can talk?” 

Dean sighed on the other end of the phone call, scrubbing a hand over his face as he contemplated his next decision. “Fine,” Dean finally told him, then rattled off the name of a shop about half an hour away that they could all meet up at. Adam agreed and Dean didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the call ended. 

He immediately texted Sam after, it was barely a minute when his phone began to ring, his temple throbbing in irritation as he let out a deep sigh through his nostrils.

**August 27, 2005**

“Stop,” Dean growled out, glaring at the cloth napkin Sam kept twisting back and forth in his hands. They were in a diner, gentle early 90s tunes playing from an old-time jukebox in one corner. The smell of freshly baked pies and other pastries tickled at Dean’s nose and despite him skipping breakfast this morning it only added to the nauseous feeling that had settled at the pit of his stomach.

Both of them heard the door jingle behind them, their bodies tensing up as the sound of thick boots clacking against tile reverberated in their direction, their shoulders visibly relaxing when they saw an older man being walked to an empty booth in front of them by a waitress.

“Excuse me?” Both Dean and Sam looked up to see a teen who looked no older than 15, he had dark blond hair that was short with tips that were a lighter shade of the color. He had gangly limbs that looked like he hadn’t quite grown into them yet, despite being a couple of inches shorter than Sam and Dean. He had on a plain red t-shirt that was layered over by a plaid button-up that was open. But it was his face that shared the most resemblance. He looked like a younger version of John, the shape of his face, the slope of his nose, the way his eyes were spaced in his head. 

Dean could see the resemblance and now knew what it was like all of those years growing up when people would say he resembled his dad more than he did his mom. The only thing setting Adam apart from Sam and Dean however was the bright blue eyes set in his skull.

“Are you two Sam and Dean?” Adam asked, his eyes flickering uncertainly over his brothers.

Dean didn’t say anything, even despite Sam glancing in his direction. “We are—” Sam’s voice cracked on the words, he cleared his throat in his fist before repeating them, “we are. Please have a seat.” He motioned to the empty seat on the opposite side of the booth.

As Adam slid into the booth on the other side of Dean and Sam, his face was plastered with excitement upon meeting his half-brothers. An emotion that sharply contrasted Dean’s steely gaze and Sam’s mixture of confusion and hesitation. 

“So, Adam...how did you get Dean’s number?” A waitress came over, asking if everyone was ready to order. Sam and Adam ended up ordering a cobb salad; whereas Dean ordered a chocolate milkshake. 

“Uh, a month ago, Dad told my mom that he was going on a business trip to California.”

“A business trip?” Sam questioned just as the waitress came to place their salad’s down on the table and told Dean his milkshake would be coming right out.

“Yea,” Adam nodded, picking up his fork to spear into a chunk of chicken and egg. “Dad’s a senior analyst with Polaris, so sometimes they send him out on business trips.”

Dean bitterly wondered what sort of business trip including seeing your adult son and then bailing on him the next day. The waitress came over with his milkshake, placing it down on the table before him, before asking them all if they needed anything else. Satisfied when they all said no, she walked away.

“When Dad left on his business trip, I was trying to get ahead on a summer project my history teacher had assigned us to research our family history and tracing genealogy, but Dad wasn’t there so I couldn’t ask him questions about it. So Mom told me that I was free to go through some boxes of pictures he has from his time in the marines and stuff to look for anything that could help me and when I did I came across some pictures and mementos that Dad had never showed us before.” A flicker of discomfort flashed across Adam’s face as he shifted the toppings of salad around in his bowl. “That’s how I ended up finding a photo of the two of you guys when you were much younger and...an article on your mom.”

Sam and Dean’s spines stiffened at the mention of their mother. It was a sore topic for the both of them; it always would be.

“And I needed to know,” Adam adds, the apple of his throat bobbing slightly. 

“Needed to know what?” Sam’s voice is soft and soothing, unlike the irritation that bleeds across Dean’s face.

“Why Dad kept you guys a secret.”

A flicker of discomfort flashed across Sam’s face, forcing the second eldest Winchester son to use his natural skillset to change the flow of conversation. Instead, directing Adam’s attention on more lighthearted topics like school, his favorite subjects, and future plans. Adam seemed to be as smart as Sam, with his favorite subject being biology, he clearly had plans to do pre-med after high school. He was in the throws about talking about his history project when Dean butt in rudely into the flow of conversation with his own questions.

“What was your childhood like Adam?” Dean’s words are all barb and bite, causing Adam’s head to jerk back slightly in a whiplash-like effect where his gaze flickered uncertainly from Dean to Sam and back again to the elder Winchester.

Underneath the table, Sam kicked Dean’s leg slightly. A mixture of shock and pleading burning in the pools of his eyes as he silently tried to convey to his brother to not bring up this line of questions. There was no need for it, but Dean ignored him and repeated his question again.

“My childhood was pretty normal,” Adam explains, “Dad took me on hunting trips for deer, he taught me how to fish and how to play pool and poker; he attended every single one of my baseball games and taught me how to drive in the spring.” Confusion painted itself across his face like watercolor paints that had been heavily diluted. “Didn’t Dad do any of this stuff for you guys?”

Dean let out a long breath that felt like heated steam upon his lips. His voice was dark, more of a growl as he glanced at Sam and ordered him to move. Sam didn’t get out of his way. “Sam. Move or I will make you move.” The way his eyes were dark enough that light didn’t hit them, Sam knew that Dean would get physical if he needed to. Silently, he slipped out of the booth, letting Dean climb out as he fished into the pocket of his leather jacket for his wallet, plucking out a random bill and tossing it down onto the table as he made his way to the door of the diner.

He could hear Sam calling out his name from behind him with Adam quickly asking Sam if he did anything wrong. 

He made it to the parking lot when he felt Sam’s shoulder on his hand, forcing him to whirl around on the balls of his feet. “Dean! Come on, don’t be mad at Adam.”

“Mad?” Dean scoffed, his eyes burning with a fevered hostility, “I’m not mad. I’m pissed.”

“Dean, he’s just a kid who didn’t know—”

“I’m not pissed at him!” Dean shouts, his voice growing in octave. “I’m pissed at Dad!” He swings his arms out beside him, “Here he is for years not letting anyone know where he is, not letting us know if he’s even dead or alive, but he’s in some other state playing dad for some chick and a newborn son!? We didn’t even get to have a fraction of what Adam had but he gets to go out to ball games with dad, get taught how to drive by him, have dinner with him every night of his life, and what did we get?”

There were layers of emotions with no end swirling in Sam’s eyes. “We had Bobby.” He tells Dean softly as if that was enough; as if having Bobby carried the same weight as having a biological dad in their lives.

“That’s not the same thing!” Dean roars, his face heating up from several years worth of anger pouring out of him. “That’s never going to be the same thing! Dad should have been there for us but he wasn’t and know we know why.” Turning, he walked away from Sam, only to pause when he’d taken a few steps, whirling around to face his brother yet again. “I’ve been such an idiot all these years!” He pointed his hands at himself, “here I am trying so hard to be the perfect son dad wanted and it wasn’t enough! It was never enough for him.” 

“Dean—” Sam’s eyes softened, his mouth slightly open in shock.

“No, Sam. Apparently, we weren’t enough to stop him from going off and starting over in a new state, we weren’t enough that he decided to just waltz back into our life!”

Sam’s brows wrinkled slightly in confusion, “Dean—Dean did Dad see you?”

Something wet splashed against Dean’s cheeks, he didn’t need to reach up to recognize as the wetness curved down to his mouth that they were his own tears. He doesn’t answer, but the deafening silence is enough for Sam to fit all the puzzle pieces together. Sam’s eyes burned with rage as he muttered something about killing their dad, calling Bobby or doing both. But Dean isn’t listening. “Dean—” the way Sam say’s his name, it’s so soft, but there’s a sadness there that his elder brother had never heard before.

“I wasn’t enough, Sam.” The pain behind those words is enough to make Sam’s heart break for his brother, he tries to lift his hand and reach out to touch his brother’s shoulder, but Dean smacks his hand away.

He only shakes his head, walking toward his car even as his brother screams his name. Even as he climbs into his car and speeds away from the parking lot. His mind was wrestling with dozens of emotions as he sped aimlessly through the streets, lucky that there wasn’t a cop parked anywhere that would pull him over faster than he could come up with a crafty lie as to why he was going at least 20 miles above the speed limit.

He didn’t recognize where he was until he pulled up onto the street where the Novak home was located. Parking in front of the house, Dean climbed out and headed up toward the porch where he raised his fist to knock against the wooden door, pausing when the door swung open to reveal Castiel donning his work scrubs with his car keys clutched tightly in his hand.

“Dean?” Castiel’s head jerked back in surprise as he watched Dean break down, tears streaming down his face as his hands rushed up to cover his eyes. It was an emotion that alarmed Castiel as he had never seen Dean break down before. Reaching out, he pulled Dean’s body close to his, feeling the mechanic sob against his body, his tears wetting the shoulder of his scrubs.

“Mr. Novak, Claire wanted to—” Dean doesn’t even glance up to see the punkish looking girl holding Claire’s hand. A septum piercing hung between her nostrils and there were dozens more in her ears alone. Half of her head was shaved bare, with the other half of her head having hair so long it came down to her waist and was dyed a shade of pistachio green.

“Dean!” Claire shouts, freeing herself from the grasp of her babysitter she rushed to her father’s side, only to stop when she saw Dean’s face pressed against his shoulder. “Daddy, does Dean have a boo boo again?”

Turning to address his baby sitter, he asks her to take Claire to the park for at least half an hour. He’d pay her double when she got back.

Cocking a brow in his direction, she jerked her chin at his scrubs. “Aren’t you going to—?” With a sharp shake of his head, she shrugged her shoulders and told Claire to quickly grab her shoes as they were headed to the park.

By the time Claire and her babysitter had slipped out of the house, Castiel and Dean were in the kitchen; Castiel talking to one of the hospital employees from the landline and Dean seated at the kitchen island. With a sigh, Castiel hung up the phone, quickly moving around the kitchen to grab a paper towel so he could dab at the tear tracks marking Dean’s cheeks. “Dean, what happened?”

“I tried my hardest throughout my childhood to make my dad proud of me,” Dean sniffed as Castiel gingerly pressed the paper towel against the corner of his eye, “but today I found out that he has another kid—another family—in a whole other state while me and Sam are right here.”

Hesitantly, Castiel pulled the paper towel away from Dean’s face, his eyes flickering over Dean’s features. “Is that the guy that was here at Claire’s birthday party?”

Dean nodded, watching the minute shift of tension in Castiel’s jaw. “Sam and I met my half brother today. And god, every second I sat across from him I hated his existence. I hated that he was this kid who stole my dad away from much of my and Sam’s life when the both of us had to worry about being put into foster care; had to watch my adoptive mom and dad fight for us in the court.” Dean’s lips smacked together, trembling slightly as he drew in a shuddering breath that he pushed out through his lips in a stuttering sob. “Our dad didn’t even want us,” fresh tears curved their way down Dean’s cheeks, “he didn’t want us and he couldn’t even bother to tell us that.” Dean glanced up at Castiel, his eyes shimmering with tears. “Why couldn’t he tell us that he didn’t want us?” His voice cracked from the raw emotion pouring out of him, causing Castiel’s face to soften considerably.

“Oh, Dean,” he breathed out, reaching out to cradle Dean’s head and pull him toward Castiel’s chest. Pressing his cheek against Dean’s temple, he frowned sharply as he rocked Dean back and forth. “Your dad fucked up as a father, he’s fucked up so bad that he wasn’t ever able to see you or Sam become the men you are today until it was convenient for him.” Turning slightly, he presses a kiss against Dean’s scalp. “Growing up my mom always taught me and my siblings a lesson. Blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb; at the end of the day, family may mean something or nothing at all, but what’s truly important is the friendships and relationships that we forge. 

“While your dad may be a pile of shit, it sounds like Bobby and his wife loved you like their own. Even if you weren’t related to them by blood, you and Sam were their kids—are their kids. At the end of the day, that’s what matters the most.” Continuing to rock Dean’s head back and forth, they stayed in that position for what seemed like hours on end, until Dean pulled away from Castiel’s chest with puffy and bloodshot eyes.

“Cas…”

“Hmm?” Castiel hummed in response.

“Kiss me. Please.” Castiel’s lips parted slightly at Dean’s request, staring down into sea-green eyes flecked with hazel, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he searched Dean’s face.

“Are you sure?”

“I want to,” Dean sighs as he reaches out and grasps Castiel’s face between his calloused hands, pulling his face down until they were mere centimeters apart. In the back of his mind, Dean noted that Castiel smelled sweet. Like freshly picked apples in the apex of the summer. It was all he needed to close the gap between them. Soft lips crushing against plush ones. Two flower petals that melded together to form a masterpiece that deserved to be admired for generations to come. Dean’s mind hummed with a sort of welcoming silence as he reached up to slip his hand into the ends of Castiel’s hair. Tilting his head to the side in order to deepen the kiss, Dean’s tongue slipped itself into Castiel’s mouth, a mewl of annoyance rumbling on his lips when Castiel pushed him away with a laugh.

He must have looked confused at the action as Castiel explained himself. “The park isn’t that far away, you know and I don’t want to exactly be sporting a boner when Claire comes home.”

_ Oh _ , Dean thought to himself as the door to the house opened and Claire came bounding in with her babysitter hot on her heels. Reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet, Claire came bounding over to Dean to show him a daffodil she plucked in the park. Keeping her distracted with conversation as her dad paid the babysitter, Dean realized that he wasn’t too keen on leaving he doesn’t want to go home to an empty apartment and have to be left alone with his thoughts. Although he knew Sam would welcome him at his place with open arms, he didn’t want to be a burden when Sam had classes on Monday.

Castiel seemed to notice this as he tucked a lock of stray hair behind an ear. “If you want to stay overnight, I’m sure Claire would be overjoyed. Especially if you don’t want to go back to your apartment.”

Claire seemed overjoyed at the prospect of Dean staying over, with the way she kept tapping his arm with the petals of the daffodil she had plucked. Dean stayed over at the Novak household for the entire day, he played video games with Claire on the Gamecube—which who knew that a 5-year-old could kick his ass at Super Smash Bros. Melee and Mario Kart. They ate dinner and watched movies until the day ended with Claire tucked against Dean’s side, her light snores silent compared to the end credits of the film.

“I’ll give you some of my clothes to wear,” Castiel pressed a kiss against his cheek as he gently lifted up his daughter from the couch so he could tuck her into bed.

By the time he came back down, he showed Dean where the guest bedroom was located before handing him a spare set of clothes that he could change into. There was a giddy look on Castiel’s face as he stood near the entryway of the guest bedroom.

“Goodnight, Dean.” Dean’s lips parted to respond, his eyes slightly widening when Castiel reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and tugging him forward so that their lips could meld together briefly only to break apart mere seconds later.

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean’s voice was rough from the kiss, a subtle change that had the corner of Castiel’s lips twitching slightly. Leaving Dean in the guest room by himself, a soft sigh pushed its way past his lips as Dean sank down onto the bed, letting his body fall backward onto the mattress as he stared up at the darkened ceiling and wondered if lady luck was finally cashing in all the good karma he’d built up over the years.

**August 28, 2005**

Slivers of golden light poured their way through the blinds covering the windows. The lights stretched across the room until they draped over Dean’s face like a muslin fabric. Groaning, the morning’s gentle touch caused Dean to stir from his sleep, his hand smacking down onto the nightstand next to the bed as he pulled his phone closer toward him only to discover that it was dead.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, sitting upright as he frowned at the dead device.

Castiel looked up from the kitchen island where he was busy cutting up a pancake on Claire’s plate, the young girl swinging her leg back and forth on the barstool as she stared at the fluffy pancake before her. Castiel smiled softly at Dean as he entered the kitchen. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Dean flashed Castiel a quick smile before pointing to the landline on the wall, “my phone’s dead. Could I borrow yours?”

“Go ahead.”

Turning, Dean pulled the receiver off of the wall and pressed it against his ear as he punched in Sam’s phone number by memory. 

“Who is this?” Sam answered once he picked up.

“It’s me, Dean.”  
“Dean!? Jesus, man, I’ve been trying to call you since last night.”

“I’m sorry. My phone died and I didn’t realize till this morning.”

“Well, are you okay? I didn’t recognize this number at all.”

“I’m calling from Cas’ landline.”

“Cas’?” Sam sucks in a breath on the other end, “OH, Castiel…” he trails off and Dean can hear the wheels in his brother’s head turning at several miles per hour. 

Dean shakes his head, “It’s not like whatever you’re thinking about right now.”

There’s a sigh coming from Sam as he pauses and then utters out, “I’m glad you’re just safe then.”

Dean pauses, it was rare for either him or Sam to be emotional, but he says, “Me too.” He then tells Sam he’ll talk to him later once he gets his phone charged up. He then hangs up the phone and turns as he watches Castiel set down a plate of pancakes, eggs, and sausage links next to Claire for him.

Syrup clings to her lips, but Claire manages to speak around the sticky substance and the mouthful of food she’s chewing through. “Dean, are you going to stay all day again? We can play more video games!” Her eyes seem to sparkle with that enthusiasm that every kid posses, but Castiel shakes his head as he dumps another pancake onto a plate with a growing stack of them. 

“No, sweetie, remember you and Daddy have to go shopping for school supplies.”

“School?” Dean manages to choke around the sliver of pancake dripping with syrup that he’s currently attempting to shovel into his mouth. 

“Yep,” Castiel nods as he shuts off the stove, “she starts the 6th of September. So today is one of those days where I want to finish getting her supplies and clothes.”

A gasp rips itself through Claire so quickly that Dean drops his fork and presses his hand to her back as he’s worried she’s about to start choking. He can see Castiel tense up with the same thought, but Claire cracks a grin so wide that it has Dean sighing in relief. “Dean, do you want to come with us? Please!?” She gives him a puppy dog look so convincing that Dean glances at Castiel who shrugs his shoulders. 

“Sure,” he tells her causing Claire to throw her fists up into the air.

“I’ll find some clothes that’ll fit you,” Castiel manages to tell him through a suppressed laughter.

Castiel ends up giving him a plaid button-up to wear with his jeans from yesterday. All three of them get into his car and head toward a local outlet. They end up picking out Claire’s school supplies at Staples. Dean helped her pick out a blue canvas backpack with constellations drawn on the fabric. They end up finding notebooks, pencils, erasers, and other school supplies that she’s going to need for her first year at school. 

It isn’t until Dean helps her pick out a set of star covered notebooks that he begins to notice a theme amongst her items and raises a questioning brow at Castiel. 

“The other day she declared she’s going to grow up and be an astronaut after seeing a documentary on the first woman in space. But after that, she’s going to be the president of space.”

Dean chuckles at that as all three of them head to Jcpenny’s after in order to pick out some new clothes for Claire. They’re browsing in the girl’s section when Castiel turns at the sound of someone calling his name. He lets out a grunt of annoyance when he spots Morgan—Claire’s friend from preschool—standing beside her mother.

Morgan’s mother is wearing an expensive two-piece suit, expensive jewelry around her neck, and was half busy fiddling with the blackberry in her hand. She only briefly tears her eyes away from her phone to stare at the small gap between Dean and Castiel. There’s a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and seems about as plastic as the silicone implants in her chest.

Dean can see Castiel all but stiffen up but watches as the doctor gets down on his knees and ask Claire’s friend how she’s been.

“I’ve been good!” Morgan exclaims, “the other day I got bit by a mosquito that was this huge!” She extends her hands as far apart as they will go, exaggerating the bug to a child’s concept of portions. Her mother touches her shoulder, yanking her back away from Castiel as if she’s afraid he’ll take her kid and boil her into a soup.

“It was nice meeting you again, Castiel, but Morgan and I have an appointment we have to get to.” Her tone is snobbish in that manner of a woman who feels she’s better than everyone she meets, yet is constantly comparing herself and her own life against everyone else as if she doesn’t have it great.

Claire seems upset at the prospect of her friend leaving already, but waves as Morgan leaves. When Castiel turns around, Dean notices that he has this sort of constipated look on his face, but he doesn’t say anything about it as they pick out outfits for Claire and then pay for them.

By the time lunch rolls around they’re sitting in the food court, Dean’s hastily wiping sugar flakes away from Claire’s mouth when Castiel asks him to watch her as he heads to the bathroom.

“Dean, what’s that!” Dean follows Claire’s index finger to a crane machine situated near the edge of the food court. 

“That’s a crane machine, I used to play those all the time when I was a kid.” He notices the way Claire’s eyebrows scrunch up as she watches a little boy reach into the machine and pull out a stuffed toy, his father ruffling his hair as the two of them walk away. “Want to see how it works?”

She nods enthusiastically as Dean wipes the rest of the sugar from her cinnamon pretzel from her sticky hands. They walk over to the crane machine where Dean marvels at it, feeling nostalgic as he rifles in the pocket of the jeans for his wallet. As he does so he spots a bear tucked away in the corner that he knows is going to be perfect for Claire.

By the time Castiel comes back to the table, Claire is clutching the bear that Dean won her so tightly he’s half afraid the stuffing is going to pop out. “Daddy! Daddy! Look what Dean won for me!” It’s a brown stuffed bear, but instead of a plain t-shirt, shoes, or even pants, it has on an astronaut costume complete with a fake helmet.

By the time they return back to the Novak home, Claire is already tuckered out and is being tucked into bed by Castiel. He heads downstairs once Claire is sound asleep and finds Dean in the living room. “She’s out like a light; still clutching the bear, however, she refuses to let that thing go.”

“It was no problem winning it for her,” he tells the man, watching him carefully as Castiel comes to stand a few inches away from Dean.

“We had fun this weekend.” He reaches out, lacing his fingers together with Dean’s so that he can bring the mechanic’s hand up, twist it to expose the soft flesh of his wrist, and press his own lips against the pale blue-green vein that’s there. “I know I did.” His eyes are half-lidded as he leans forward, capturing Dean’s lips with his own in a chaste kiss. He pulls back, his eyes slightly shut as if he’s trying to conserve the memory of the kiss and Dean’s taste.

There’s a wry smile on Dean’s lips, “If I didn’t have to work tomorrow, I would stay.” 

“You could always just show up late to work.”

A soft chuckle worms its way out of Dean as he cocks a brow at the doctor, “Are you telling me to show up late to work?”

Castiel rolls his eyes but presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s mouth anyway. “Drive home safe.”

Dean bids him goodbye and heads out to his car. He sits in the driver’s seat for a bit, fistbumps himself but blushes when a passing stranger gives him an odd look, forcing Dean to shove his keys into the engine. Classical rock music blares from the radio as Dean pulls away from the street and heads off into a cloudless, star-speckled sky.

  
  
  



	14. Golden Moment

**August 30, 2005**

Grease drips down the sides of his hands as Dean huffs, placing his burger down onto the table to grab a spare napkin to wipe the grime away from his hands. His phone rings on the table, causing Dean to puff.  _ Great timing _ , he thinks to himself as he tosses the soiled napkin down, picks his phone up, and presses it to his ear once he’s accepted the call.

“Hey, Sam.” He manages to say through the huge mouthful of burger he’s attempting to swallow down.

“Please tell me you’re not eating a burger for lunch again,” Sam asks him with an exasperated sigh.

He glances down at the burger resting in its grease-soaked wrapper. “No, I’m actually eating a salad.”

“You liar.”

“Hey, listen, if it has lettuce, meat, and enough veggies for the week it’s still a salad. Anyway, what’s up? It’s rare for you to call me in the middle of the day.”

Sam pauses a pause that tells Dean that whatever his little brother wants to bring up is a topic he isn’t going to enjoy. “I was talking to Adam—” He starts, but then stops when he hears the grunt of displeasure from Dean. “Dean, just give the kid a chance. He leaves for Minnesota this Friday. He just wants to meet up and talk to us again.”

Dean pauses, turning his thoughts over in his brain as he searches for a response only to push a breath out through his nostrils. “Thursday; after work though.” He can almost hear Sam’s sigh of relief on the other end of the call.

“I’ll tell Adam about it.”

With a sigh, Dean hangs up, wondering for a brief second what he’d managed on roping himself into.

**September 1, 2005**

Dean is sitting in the booth of yet another mom and pop diner. At least they have pie this time around.

The door to the place jingles, alerting everyone that a new customer had just walked in. Sam is twisting in the booth to catch a glimpse of the new body and by the slight tap of Dean’s pinky and a hurried, “Be nice,” he knows that it’s Adam.

Adam is sliding into the booth as nervous as Bambi tumbling out of the forest—but then again Dean doesn’t know what Bambi looks like because he’d never subject himself to watching a Disney movie aimed at making kids cry. He stares at Dean, his eyes blown so wide that Dean has to wonder if this kid is going to break down and start crying in front of them. “I’m sorry, for whatever I did the other day to upset you and—” He pauses, his mouth twisting as he tries to search for the right words.

Dean can tell from even a mile away that Adam is beating himself up over something that doesn’t really involve him. He watches Adam blink, his eyes taking on a dewy sheen to them that makes him sigh. He runs fingers through his hair, his lips curving into a sharp frown.

“Look...Adam...you didn’t do anything to make me upset.” He laces his fingers together, “there’s just...a lot of complicated feelings that I have toward Dad; for much of my and Sam’s lives he hasn’t been there so when you showed up here with a picture-perfect childhood I lashed out at you for that because I felt like you had something that I always wanted.”

Adam nods, tears beginning to drip down his cheeks that has Dean feeling a little bit more than guilty for being the cause of them. But he hastily wipes at them, between a sharp sniffle he ends up saying, “I know I don’t know what it was like for you two to grow up; all I have to rely on are the experiences I have with Dad and I don’t really know what happened for you two to be split up from him, but I just don’t want you guys to hate me. And I don’t think I hate Dad for it...I might, but I don’t really know, you know?”

Sam sucks in a breath, glancing quickly at Dean, “Listen, Adam, our childhood was rough and maybe one day we’ll tell you about it...or we won’t. But that won’t give us any reason to hate you. You’re just an innocent kid that ended up enrolled in the Winchester family bullshit.”

Sam’s words click with Dean. Really  _ click _ with him as he stares at Adam and sees what Sam has been seeing this entire time. He sees a 15 year-old-kid trying to reach out to half-brother’s he’d never known had existed. He’d reached out to them and instead, come face to face with two people who’d been mentally scarred from growing up with John—well Dean much more—that they’d been emotionally walled off from Adam.

Dean sighs, raking his fingers across his scalp. He jerks his head to the side, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Sam shoots him an inquisitive look. “I’m serious, let’s get out of here.”

Adam glances furtively between the two brothers until his gaze settles upon Dean.

“Come on,” Dean gestures to his younger half-brother. “I’m going to take you to someplace that’s super cool.”

It’s a good drive away, but Sam, Dean, and Adam pull up to the Blackhawk Museum with Dean paying for the admissions fee for all three of them. It’s like a light switch flickers on in Adam, lifting the sadness that had hunkered down on his shoulders as he watches Dean point out some of the classic cars that the museum was known for.

The  1924 Hispano-Suiza H6C,  Hongqi CA72, or Dean’s personal favorite the Model B 7-Passenger Sedan. They end up heading to the Spirit of the Old West exhibit after and spend much of their time there until a security guard comes in to usher them out close to closing time. 

“I have to go back to my aunt’s for dinner,” Adam tells them once their feet hit the pavement.

“We can drive you back,” Dean tells him, despite the look of protest on Adam’s face, “seriously, it’s no problem.” All three of them pile into his car, it’s a good drive to Piedmont, but by the time they pull up to Adam’s aunt’s brownstone, it’s almost close to 6.

Adam’s hand hovers on the handle of the door as he pauses and glances at his two older half-brothers. “I had a great time today, really, I just — ” he stumbles over his words, the apple of his throat bobbing slightly, “ — I just don’t want to lose contact with you guys.”

“You have both of our numbers,” Sam twists around in the passenger seat to place a hand on Adam’s shoulder, “don’t be a stranger. You can reach out to us even when school starts up for you.”

Adam nods, a smile flitting across his face. “I’ll message you both often.” Dean and Sam tell him goodbye as he climbs out of the car and up the steps of his aunt’s brownstone.

“Home we go,” Dean chuckles as his car’s engine purrs to life. They’re driving back to Sam’s apartment when Dean’s phone rings from the cupholder in the center of the console that he’d tucked it in earlier. “Sam, can you check who it is.”

Sam plucks the phone up into his hand, he spies Castiel’s name written across the screen. He snorts, “It’s your boyfriend,” but finds his eyes going wide when Dean doesn’t even bother to fight him on such a claim.

But Dean pulls up to a red light and glances at his brother. “I’m slowly starting to make peace with myself, now can you answer my phone, but put it on speaker.”

“Hey, Dean,” Castiel’s voice has a lilting, teasing quality that fills the car, “what are you doing right now?”

Dean can almost imagine the slight wrinkle of Castiel’s nose that he gets whenever he’s amused by something. “I’m with Sam. I’m driving him back to his place.”

“Good, I’m glad I caught you both on one phone call. Hi, Sam.”

Sam responds back with a greeting, just as Dean asks Castiel what this is all about.

“What are you two doing for labor day?” 

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their brows raised in question.

**September 5, 2005**

“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” Sam taps Dean’s shoulder, his mouth twisting into a frown as he glances around the sizeable Californian ranch home. There are people outside milling about, red solo cups in their hands as they chat. Some people go toward the home, walking in and out of the front door with ease.

“Yea, this is the address Cas gave me,” Dean snorts, not understanding Sam’s concern until he catches onto the wide mix of different ethnicities at the party. He ignores it and knocks on the dark wooden door in front of him as he bites into his lower lip to keep himself from laughing at the fact that Sam doesn’t know yet.

The door is thrown open, revealing a dark-skinned woman with shoulder-length hair and strong features. She stands in the door frame, her right brow cocked as she glances from Sam to Dean and back to Sam again. “And you are?”

“Uh, I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean hooks a thumb at Sam, “and this is my brother Sam. Castiel invited us here?”

She stares hard at Dean until a smile cracks across her impassive face. She lifts a finger to point at him, “Right, you must be the dreamy hunk with the muscles — ” she drags her finger over to Sam, “ — and his adorable little brother.” She calls out over her shoulder in an impressively loud voice, “Bigfoot! Your boyfriend is here!” She then turns back to face the two brothers, “you guys can come in.” 

She opens the door a little wider for them and turns on her heels to stalk off into the rest of the house.  _ Bigfoot? _ Sam silently mouths at Dean who shrugs his shoulders in response.

“Come on!” The dark-skinned woman motions at the two of them as they step into the home. She makes a beeline for the living room, the both of them trailing behind her as she then takes an abrupt left and leads them both into the kitchen.

They find Castiel there, standing next to the shoulder of a black woman with long dreadlocks that hang down to her back. Castiel’s face is flushed red, he’s doubled over and coughing into his fist as he speaks to her in a rapid-fire accent that neither Dean nor Sam can understand.

There’s a set of double doors in the kitchen that are open and lead out into the back yard, reggae music drifts in. It seems lively and albeit a little bit hectic as the black woman notices that she has new guests, she turns and offers Dean and Sam a smile.

“Mom,” Castiel splutters out between coughs, “it’s too spicy.”

Castiel’s mother whips her head in his direction so fast that Dean isn’t certain how her neck didn’t crack. She sucks her teeth and smacks her son’s arm. “What’s spicy?” Her accent is thick, “I raised you on hotter food than this!” She sucks her teeth again, before turning to stare at Sam and Dean once more. “Which one is Dean?”

Castiel walks over to both of them, his eyes a little watery as he introduces the Winchester brothers to his family. “That’s my mom — ” he then motions to the woman that had opened the door for them, “ — and this is my sister, Raphael.”

“But you guys can just call me Raphe.”

“Dean!” Claire screeches as she comes running into the house from the backyard, she launches herself at his legs, she doesn’t let go of him until Castiel tickles her sides, pries her away from him and tells her to go ask Grandma for a snack.

Dean watches Claire go up to her Grandma and point to an aluminum foil covered tin that the woman peels back and plucks out a thick golden log of fried dough to give to her Granddaughter.

Claire munches on her snack as Castiel turns to his mother, “Mom is everyone outside?” His mother nods, causing Raphael to throw an arm around Dean’s neck as a mischievous grin spreads across her features.

“Come on, lover boy, time to meet the rest of the family.”

Dean and Sam get dragged outside where they meet the rest of Castiel’s family. There are the twins Michael and Luke who are seven years older than Castiel. Michael is clean-cut in the face, with hair the color of honey wheat and the brightest eyes Dean has ever seen. There’s something about Michael that just puts Dean and Sam at ease when he shakes both of their hands.

Luke has messy, short blond hair with light blue eyes and short stubble. He seems friendly enough, but when Castiel’s back is turned he slaps a sticky note with  _ kick me _ written on it, winks at Dean, and presses a single finger to his lips. His wife Sarah smacks him in the arm at the practical joke, taps Castiel to inform him of the note on his back as she soothes the baby in her arms. 

There’s Castiel’s brother, Gabriel, who’s three years older than him. He’s a professional comedian and actor and Dean has seen him in a couple of late-night programs once or twice.

Balthazar — who prefers to go by his nickname of Baz — is three years younger than Castiel and works as a TV executive. Uriel is younger than Castiel by five years and looks like the spitting image of his sister Raphael with hair buzzed close to his scalp. 

Finally is the baby of the Novak family, Castiel’s younger sister, Kaleisha, who works as a fashion designer and has the biggest smile Dean has ever seen.

By the time they’re done being introduced to everyone Sam’s eyes are bugging out of his head as he stares at Castiel and his darker-skinned siblings.

“Yes,” Castiel confirms with a chuckle, “they’re actually my siblings and my mom gave birth to us all.”

Eventually the party gets into the full swing of things and Sam is hitting it off with Castiel’s younger sister, talking about legal stuff that goes over Dean’s head. Castiel ends up dragging him over to a fold-out table, where a bunch of food in aluminum containers had been laid out in a gorgeous spread. His forehead wrinkles as he stares at each item, trying to decipher what it is he’s staring at. Castiel laughs at his anguish as he grabs up what looks like a mini empanada and bites into half of it, causing the meat and vegetables to ooze out onto his thumb.

“Dean, I’m here to serve as your culinary guide.” He grabs Dean a plate and directs him to place those empanada-like things on his plate — Castiel referred to them as patties — along with some rice and red kidney beans, jerk chicken, fried dumplings and more until Dean’s plate was almost overflowing. 

They walk over to the large picnic table where Castiel’s family is seated at, he spies a bottle of hot sauce on the table, snatches it up and dumps some onto his rice.

“Dean, you really shouldn’t have done that,” Castiel’s lips curl into his mouth as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“Why?” Dean questions as he tears off a piece of chicken with his force, scoops some rice up onto his fork and shoves it into his mouth, “it’s just ho — ” heat radiates from the tip of Dean’s tongue all the way to the back of his throat, it grows in hotness the longer Dean has his mouth open and even when he snaps it shut the heat just seems to grow. Quickly chewing and swallowing the food down, he begins to cough even as Castiel laughs at his suffering.

The party goes by quickly with Dean getting to know Castiel’s family well and even somehow ends up helping Castiel’s mom clean up in the kitchen once most of the guests had left. Sam is somewhere still talking to Kaleisha, he twists his head finding them laughing on one of the couches in the living room. 

“Dean!” Dean turns his head to the doors leading out to the backyard, Castiel’s father was standing there. His long grey hair flecked with dark strands illuminated by the glow of torchlights that had been placed outside. He walks across the kitchen, places a kiss on his wife’s cheek before placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Would you like a drink, son?”

“Sure.”

He proceeds to pull two bourbon glasses out from a cabinet and walks towards a large punch bowl that had been placed down on one of the kitchen counters. It’s a dark red liquid with orange slices floating in it and even near the sink, Dean could smell the rum wafting off of it. But he watches Castiel’s father pick up the ladle and fill both of the glasses halfway with the alcoholic concoction and motions for Dean to follow him outside.

Dean does so and follows Castiel’s father down to the firepit where a ring of fold-out chairs had been placed in a circle, he sits down in one just as Castiel’s father hands him a glass. He takes a sip of the alcohol, instantly feeling the warm burn of the rum that spreads through his chest. He can feel the flush that starts in his neck and begins to spread to his cheeks. It’s good; strong, but good, he decides. 

“What are your intentions with my son?” Castiel’s father asks Dean, just as he’s about to take a sip of his own drink. Dean fixes him with a confused look at the question, causing Castiel’s father to chuckle; a deep sound that reminds Dean of bass guitars. “You are dating my son, aren’t you?” He can read the confusion on Dean’s face as if he’s had people ask him a thousand times before how he’s comfortable with his son’s sexuality.

“You’re not — ” Dean starts, but stops himself, uncertain of what he wants to say.

Castiel’s father shakes his head, “I’m comfortable with who my son is and who he chooses to love. It’s his life and not mine to live through him.”

“Sir — ” Dean starts only to be cut off by the shake of his head.

“You can call me Cain, son.” Dean’s brows raise themselves, causing Cain to release a throaty laugh. “My mama gave me the name as a joke; could tell even as a baby that’d I’d be troublesome and stubborn headed.” He takes a sip of his own drink, turning his ocean blue eyes upon Dean. “Let me repeat my question, what are your intentions with my son? Is this just a fling for you, are you testing the waters so to speak, or what?”

Dean pauses, staring off into the distance as he sips his alcohol and tries to cobble together his thoughts into cohesive words. “Truthfully, I don’t know what to call my relationship with Cas, right now. We’re taking things slow, but I know that every day I look forward to calling him the very moment I wake up, before I go to bed, or even when I think about him. I enjoy spending time with him and Claire. The two of them are as much like family to me as my own brother and adoptive Dad.”

Cain smiles at his words, nodding his head as an unreadable expression paints itself over his eyes. “Good,” he utters as he reaches out with his hand and pats it against Dean’s back, “I expect you to cherish my son and granddaughter; I don’t want you to hurt either of them because lord knows those two have suffered enough.”

Dean wonders what he means by that, but doesn’t dwell on it too long when he hears Castiel calling out his name. He turns and sees Castiel standing in the doorway, he’s carrying a sleeping Claire in his arms; the light from the kitchen illuminating their silhouettes in a golden glow.

“A word of advice, Dean,” Dean looks up when he feels Cain’s hand wrest on his shoulder, “that feeling you were describing earlier? It’s love...the word you’re looking for is love.” He pats Dean’s shoulder, once and then twice before walking away from the firepit. Dean looks back at Castiel’s smiling face; his body illuminated with a golden glow and Claire in his arms.

He finds this singular moment in time perfect and hopes that nothing will ever destroy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update: July 17
> 
> (×﹏×) I'm so sorry for the pain and suffering coming everyone's way next week....


	15. Nobody's Fault but Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the chapter is from a Led Zepplin song. So this chapter has....a lot going on it, enough so that I understand if anyone needs to take a break from the fic in the coming weeks. Just a fair bit of warning, but this chapter contains **panic attacks, homophobic language, and mentions of child abuse** so like again, totally understandable if anyone needs a break after reading this chapter or wants to skip over it.

**September 23, 2005**

“What are you doing?” Castiel leans over Dean’s shoulder to cock a brow at the phone in his hand. 

Dean’s busy texting Adam; he’s already started school for the semester and they’ve been keeping in pretty frequent contact with one another. In Dean’s honest opinion, he’s starting to like the kid more and more, so far Adam’s been enjoying his classes, but is already nervous because the student council of his high school had already announced their winter formal theme. And Adam had been nervous to ask out a girl a year above him to the dance.

Dean’s been giving him pointers to ask her out, but right now he’s over at Castiel’s house because he’s been complaining for weeks that his sink’s been acting up. But he’s been unable to hire a plumber to come fix it because he hasn’t had a day off since labor day. So Dean had offered to fix it for him and found himself doing other menial labor tasks around the house as well.

It didn’t help that this situation caused Dean to reminisce about the porno he’d watched an eternity ago about this exact scenario. 

He’d already told Castiel about his half-brother Adam and the whole situation around that. “I’m texting Adam, he’s been asking his big bro for some sagely romantic advice.”

Castiel warily glances at Dean, “Are you sure you’re qualified to give your brother any advice in regards to his romantic life?”

Shock sweeps over Dean’s face as he places his phone down on the kitchen counter, “Hey, I’m notorious for landing chicks. I’m certain I can give my little bro a pointer or two.”

“Okay, then,” Castiel chuckles, “read me some of this _ advice _ you’ve been giving.”

“I told him to just lay on the charm; if anything women will come prowling to him.”

Castiel squints his eyes at Dean and laughs the hardest he’s ever laughed before, “That’s what you told him? I wonder how you’ve ever managed to land a date in the past before.”

“Hey!” Dean cries out, a little miffed, “It doesn’t help that I’m smoking hot.”

“Mmm,” Castiel hums, reaching out to wrap his arm around Dean’s waist and tug him toward him so that their bodies were pressed against one another, “that you are.” He rumbles, cocking his head to the side so that he can press his lips against Dean’s own, his lips part to snake his tongue into Dean’s mouth, but he groans in annoyance when the horn of the schoolbus cries outside. “Got to go get Claire,” he grumbles, pressing his forward against Dean’s as he reluctantly unglues himself from the other man.

He leaves the kitchen and heads outside, coming back in a minute later with Claire holding his hand. Her normally neat hair that had been done up in a braid before she left for school this morning was undone, a scrunchie hanging loosely from her wrist as she looked equally tired and as if she had traveled into the depths of hell itself and barely gotten out by the skin of her teeth. It’s a struggle for her just to lift her hand and wave at him, before letting out a high pitched whine as she falls onto her back, her backpack cushioning her back from the floor.

“Rough day at school?” Dean asks with a laugh, he bites down into his lower lip at the sudden thought of Claire resembling an upturned turtle. 

“I don’t want to grow up!” Claire bemoans, “if growing up means being this tired, I’d rather stay five forever.”

Castiel snorts as he walks into the kitchen, “Dean, you want a beer?” Dean nods as Claire asks her dad for an apple juice.

She gets up and sits next to Dean at the kitchen island as Castiel grabs a cold bottle of beer from the fridge and the bottle of apple juice. He pours the juice and beer out in separate glasses and places them before his daughter and Dean. Claire and Dean pick up their glasses at the same time—with Claire wrapping her hands around her glass—and bring the glasses to their lips to take a long, steady sip from. They jerk the glasses away from their lips, letting out a long, satisfied sigh as their lips smack together. They place their glasses back down and drag the back of their hands across their mouths.

Castiel’s eyes are blown wide after staring at the both of them, “Seriously? Dean, how are you more similar to my daughter than I am?”

Dean shrugs as he reaches out to ruffle Claire’s already messy hair, “What can I say? I have a way with kids.”

Claire finishes the rest of her juice as she climbs down from the stool, “If you need me, I’ll be in the living room doing homework.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly, “She has homework already? At her age?”

“It’s simply counting objects and learning how to write letters and numbers.”

“But still it’s only the second week of school.”

Castiel shrugs, “Times are different. But speaking of time, what are you doing for the weekend?”

“I’m working Saturday morning, but I’m off after that, and all of Sunday, why?”

“Well,” Castiel smiles, “Raphe, offered to watch Claire this weekend, so I could get a break and Claire gets to hang out with her cousins,” Castiel’s voice drops by a couple of decibels until its a husky whisper, “so...I was wondering if you’d like to spend the weekend? With me...on a date.”

Dean’s mouth slightly parts open as he realizes he and Castiel haven’t done much aside from him coming over to fix things or both men hanging out with Claire involved in some manner. “Sure,” he says, cracking a smile, “I’ll be here.”

**September 24, 2005**

The door to the Novak home opens revealing Castiel standing in the doorway, he smiles when he spots the backpack hanging from Dean’s fist that contains two days worth of clothes and toiletries. “You pack any lube in there too?”

Dean’s rarely ever heard Castiel crack jokes, let alone sexual ones so he stands on the porch as frozen like a statue which causes Castiel to snort.

“I can tell sexual jokes too you know, but don’t worry about the lube,” he reaches out to pat Dean’s chest, “I have plenty in my bedroom.” He nearly chokes on his own spit as he follows Castiel inside. “Just drop your bag anywhere,” he tells him, the smell of something delicious clings heavily to the air.

Dean sniffs, the smell of cooking steak makes his mouth water and his stomach rumble. “Is that steak?”

Castiel gives him an amused look that has his right brow arched, “My mom always said the way to a man’s heart is his stomach.”

Both of them walk through the house and go out to the back porch where the grill is smoking hot. Castiel lifts the hood of the grill, causing citrus and steak smelling smoke to billow out. He grabs a pair of tongs on the side and flips the steaks over on the grill, causing the juices to slither out of the meat and sizzle onto the coals below. Dean leans in close to him, eyeing the steaks like a ravenous man who’d never seen a delicious delicacy such as this before. “What are you making?”

“It’s a miso and yuzu marinated steak, with baked potatoes and grilled peppers.” Castiel turns to see a bug-eyed Dean staring at him as if he’s the most beautiful thing on this planet. He swears he can see tears in the corner of Dean’s eyes which causes him to burst out laughing.

“Cas, are you seeing anyone right now? Because goddammit, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Hmmm,” he taps his chin contemplatively, “I’d be single if my current boyfriend breaks up with me, but—” he shrugs his shoulders, “—I think he’s pretty smitten with me, but I’ll let you know when I’m single again Mr. Winchester.”

Dean snorts past the warmth brimming in his chest. _ Boyfriend_. That word lights a fire in him that he didn’t know was there. A fire so warm it has all the nerves in him tingling as he presses a kiss against Castiel’s cheek which has the man humming with glee. By the time the steaks are done, Dean swears he’s died on gone to heaven as he shoves a piece of the meat into his mouth.

There’s just enough fat on it that it melts in his mouth, causing the spicy, yet sweet taste of the miso and yuzu to burst onto his tongue. It was like having a piece of heaven in his mouth. With an early dinner out of the way, Castiel and Dean ended up on the couch, a rather large bowl of ice cream smothered in chocolate sauce between them and a romantic rom-com playing on the TV.

Dean would never have been able to tell anyone when his attention strayed away from Heath Ledger trying to woo Julies Stiles’s character on-screen to the man beside him who laughed at the littlest things, whose nose scrunched up in the most adorable way when he found something amusing.

Castiel must have caught him staring because he turns his gaze on Dean, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Hey,” he says to Dean softly.

“Hey,” Dean repeats back, lifting a hand to cup Castiel’s jaw. He brushes a thumb against his stubble and leans forward, capturing Castiel’s lips with his own. The kiss is warm and chaste, but Dean groans as his eyelids flutter closed and he allows himself to just _feel _with every neuron in his body.

He can feel the way Castiel’s skin heats up with the kiss, the way his heartbeat sounds loud in his own ears. Tilting his head to the side, Castiel’s soft lips part open like a flower unfurling its petals. There’s a soft gasp and a shiver that Dean’s brain can’t process if it’s from him or the man before him. But it doesn’t matter to Dean as he snakes his tongue into Castiel’s mouth; the interior of his mouth is wet, hot, and slick like a furnace that had been covered in a layer of ice that was melting.

Their tongues glided over one another, a whimper burying itself in the hollow of Dean’s throat as Castiel placed his hands on his chest and pushed him away. His brows pinched together as he worried that he’d done something wrong, a thought that he voiced aloud. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“No,” Castiel shakes his head, his hands remaining on Dean’s chest, “just...if you keep kissing me I’m going to get hard.”

“Oh,” Dean sucks in a breath, his eyes narrowing and going dark with lust, “I don’t mind.”

Castiel’s eyes are blown wide, a perfervid light and unfathomable hunger burning in them that has heat curling up the length of Dean’s spine. “_ God, _” he half moans, “you’re literally the fucking tempestuous apple hanging from the tree.” He surges forward, pushing Dean onto his back. There’s a sound of protest that flitters out past Dean’s lips, only to be swallowed down as Castiel smashes their lips together. Their bodies are pressed flush against one another, causing Dean to feel the heavy throb of Castiel’s erection against his thigh. His eyes flutter closed, mouth open in a silent gasp as Castiel trails his lips along Dean’s jaw and kisses at the skin where his neck and jaw meet. It’s a spot that has Dean’s hands flying to Castiel’s hips, gripping them so tightly that the surgeon might as well have bruises in the morning. 

He jerks Castiel’s hips until they’re neatly lined up with his and curses when their bulges rub against each other. He tosses his head back, exposing the pale column of his throat that Castiel takes as an invitation—and it fucking well is an invitation—to suck, lick, and kiss as much skin as he can that has a stream of filthy curses that sound like music to Castiel’s ears falling from Dean’s lips.

Brain addled with lust, Castiel doesn’t even realize he’s grinding his hips against Dean’s own like he’s a horny teenager all over again until Dean’s fingers are gripping his waist so hard, his curses becoming filthier and unintelligible by the second that Dean’s gasping out his name like a prayer, “Cas. Fuck. Cas. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

He pulls his lips away from Dean’s throat, his lips pink and swollen when he places them by his ear. “Do you want this?” His voice is thick with lust and so low that it makes Dean shiver, “tell me you want this.”

“Yes,” Dean gasps, even though a tiny part of his brain is screaming _no _so loud that he can hear it above his heartbeat.

Castiel shudders as he lifts his hips just enough, that he can unbutton Dean’s jeans, lower the zipper, and slip his hand into Dean’s boxers where his fingers wrap around Dean’s dick. It’s already slick with precum, way slicker than Castiel thought it would be as he gives the organ a few experimental tugs.

Dean’s shuddering, losing himself into his own headspace as Castiel licks his lips, his grip on Dean’s cock tightening as he drags his hand up and down the shaft. “Dean,” he all but moans his name as he resumes kissing and sucking on his neck like he can’t get enough of the Winchester. If Dean was a whiskey, Castiel might as well have been an alcoholic at the rate he was going.

Lips parted with soft moans curling past them, Dean threw an arm over his eyes as his brain focused on the feeling of Castiel’s hand sliding up and down his dick. There was a door in the back of his mind, wrapped up in chains that pounded against his skull, threatening to throw itself wide open as Dean mentally forced himself—forced his thoughts—to stay in the present. In the here and now and not throw himself mentally back in the past. Back to a different time and a different situation where someone else’s hand had also been down his pants.

_ Stop. Stop. Just tell him to stop. _ The subconscious part of Dean screamed in his mind, his throat growing impossibly tight as Castiel moaned above him, a bead of sweat that coursed down the side of his temple curled off of his skin and splattered against Dean’s cheek.

It made him sick.

His stomach lurching with fear, disgust; a million sickening emotions he couldn’t properly put a name too as his mind thrust itself into hyperdrive.

_ He isn’t him_. Dean had to remind himself. _ This isn’t like when you were a kid_.

But his brain doesn’t recognize that distinction for him. For some sick part of him, his past and present are steadily blending into one. _ He isn’t him. Cas isn’t him_. A part of his brain curls sickeningly in his gut, stroking Dean’s face in an almost sympathetic manner, except for how it disgustingly hisses at him. _ Yes, he is. He’s just like him. He’s just like when he made you feel big, strong, and older. Gave you alcohol and told you were good. Told you that only special little boys got to play a special game_.

Dean feels sick. He’s going to be sick.

“You’re so good for me,” Castiel whispers against his neck, “you’re so good and perfect.”

There’d once been similar words said to Dean in the past. Said to a Dean that’d been _way _too young to comprehend the games he’d been playing weren’t games meant for a fucking kid. Games that had been _wrong _in every way. In ways that had left him hurt and broken; blaming himself for years after. Still blaming himself.

“You’re so special, Dean,” Castiel whispers, pressing a kiss along the edge of Dean’s jaw as his fist becomes slicker in Dean’s pants.

And like that, Dean can’t hold back the door in his mind. It throws itself open, bursting the chains off of the door and half of Dean is thrust into the past of his mind, the other half of him in the present. The musky scent of cheap cologne slams into his senses, he shakes, pleading with his brain to stop. He knows Cas’ scent by now; nows the tropical coconut and citrus blend that always seems to cling to his skin. But there’s the scent of that cheap cologne colliding with the scent of mildew and stale alcohol.

There’s a rough, calloused hand in his pants that he knows doesn’t belong to Cas, but his brain can’t make that distinction. Refuses to make it almost.

“God, I want you,” Castiel all but hums as he lifts his head from the crook of Dean’s neck and stares down at his face and into his eyes. He expects to see desire there; love, lust, and want twisted into one. He expects to see the very definition of all eight types of love in Greek painted across Dean’s face, sweltering in his eyes for him as he continues to move his hand up and down Dean’s dick, but stops when he doesn’t find it there.

Instead, he comes face to face with fear and terror in its place as Dean stares up at him like he’s the monster hiding in kids’ closets. 

“Dean—” Castiel starts to say, but doesn’t, not when with shaking hands Dean shoves him off of him. He hops to his feet, his hands trembling as he zips up his zipper and buttons his pants. “Dean...what the fuck was that?” Castiel all but breathes out as he notices tears shimmering in his eyes.

Something’s not right, he realizes. Something isn’t right.

“I’m sorry,” Dean pushes, “I’m sorry. I—” he doesn’t know what to say. What can he? _ I’m sorry, I’m fucked up. I’m sorry my brain can’t recognize that you aren’t him. _ Instead, he shakes his head, grabs up the backpack he’d tossed into the corner of the living room earlier, and all but runs out of the house.

He leaves Castiel alone, wondering what had just happened.

**September 25, 2005**

“Dean, come on. I know you’re in there.” Castiel knocks against Dean’s apartment door, his mouth set into a deep frown at the fact that all his calls and texts had went ignored. “Please, we need to talk.” He raises his fist to knock again. Only for the door to be thrown open.

Dean’s eyes are puffy and bloodshot as if he’s been crying all night. His clothes are the ones he wore yesterday to Castiel’s house and are severely wrinkled. “Can I come in?” Dean holds the door open a little wider, doesn’t say anything which concerns Castiel.

He comes in anyway and whirls around to stare at Dean who’s standing a good distance away from him, he’s leaned up against the kitchen island, his gaze focused on his feet.

“Dean, what was that yesterday?”

Dean lifts his shoulders and lets them droop in such a way that Castiel isn’t certain it could pass for a shrug. “It was nothin’. It won’t happen again.” 

Brows creasing together, Castiel lifts his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “That was ‘nothing?’ That was clearly something; something that bothered you so bad you freaked out like that. Seriously, Dean, I’m worried about you. Just tell me what happened.”

“Cas, get off my back,” Dean growls, his eyes darkening and his lips widening to show off his teeth, “seriously, get off my back and pretend this never happened, alright?”

“I can’t pretend it never happened, Dean!” Castiel explodes, his eye dark, wide, and shimmering with frustration and anger, “how the fuck am I supposed to pretend that my boyfriend pushed me away when we got intimate and looked at me like I was some fucking monster ready to eat him!?” He swallows...once...twice...another time for good measure before he opens his mouth to speak again. “Dean...you know I’m a mandated reporter, right? You know they make us study the signs in medical school...I know—I know what sexual ab—”

“—Cas!” Dean cuts him off with a growl, “you don’t know a goddamn thing,” he bitterly chuckles, “you don’t know a goddamn thing and whatever you _think _you know what happened to me that’s not it! Okay? That never….that _ never _ happened to me.”

Castiel’s eyes narrow at Dean. “Are you trying to convince me...or are you trying to convince yourself?” His words are like a punch to Dean’s chest. His voice drops to a whisper, “I know the signs, Dean…” his tongue flickers out to wet parched lips, “...I...I should have stopped last night...I should have stopped when I felt you go rigid. I thought you were enjoying it, but—” he shakes his head.

“I was enjoying it,” Dean hisses, “I was enjoying it and then—”

“—and then what?”

“Shut up!” Dean groans with frustration, lets his head drop into his hands. “Just stop!” He hisses, “I’m not some kid at your hospital alright! I’m not some kid or some teen you see when you check their heart and notice their parents, their guardians, their whatever is touching them the wrong way.”

“I’m not—!” Castiel’s brows push together, his forehead wrinkling as his mouth worms itself into a thin line, “that’s not—Dean, just—” he groans, his hands flying to his hair, “—can you fucking stop for one second! Just stop being so fucking stubborn for once and tell me what’s wrong!”

“Nothing is wrong!” Dean snarls, his fingers curling into his palms, “why can’t you see that? Nothing is wrong! My brain just...overreacted last night.”

“Overreacted?” Castiel snarls the word so softly that it’s like a dagger to Dean’s chest. “_ Overreacted _?” His bluejay colored eyes search Dean’s face. “You’re seriously going to call that an overreaction?” His lips press together.

“Yes,” Dean hisses, eager to have this over and done with, “it was an overreaction.”

A bitter, wintery cold chuckle curls past Castiel’s tongue. His face darkening with fury. “Are you _ serious _?” He hisses, his temper a slowly boiling pot that threatens to explode. “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!?” The lid blows off the pot and chucks itself into the ceiling. “You never want to talk! That’s all I want from you is to talk about what the fuck is going on! What made you fucking leave my house and not talk to me for hours!”

“I don’t want to talk,” Dean hisses, “not about this. Not ever. And not with you.”

“Then why?” Castiel hisses, “why the fuck are you so afraid every time I touch you? Every time I kiss you? Every time I want to get intimate with you? Don’t think I haven’t been noticing either.” His eyes narrow to mere slits. “I notice the way you tremble every time I do anything to you,” he scoffs, a bitterness to his voice that has Dean pisses, “it’s only ever with _ me_, but you sure as hell didn’t seem scared or terrified with that chick that was at your apartment.”

Dean’s upper lip is curling into a snarl at the mention of Cassie. A sore wound that Castiel had picked without even realizing it. “Don’t mention her,” he all but spits, “she’s different—she’s not—”

“She’s not—?” Castiel wildly gestures at Dean, “she’s not, what? She doesn’t have a dick is that it? Is that it, huh? She’s different because she has a pussy?”

Anger slumbers in Dean’s chest like a coiled snake waiting to strike. Its head lifts itself up with a curious glint in its eyes, a fevered glint that wants it to strike out and hurt Castiel in any which way possible. “She’s different, because I’m not like you, Cas! I’m not like you or any other people like you!”

“What the fuck does that mean, Dean? What the actual fuck does that mean?”

“You know what I mean. I’m not like you. I’m not some dude that can just show up at pride and act like there’s nothing wrong with the world. I’m not some dude that fucking prowls gay bars for the next best thing—” Dean can feel the snake slithering in its chest, his tongue flitting out to taste the air; taste the scent of blood and pain ready to come out. “—I’m not like you; I’m not a fag—”

The pain blooms hot and wild in his chest. It spreads across his face from the handprint marring his cheek. Castiel’s eyes are so dark he can barely see the irises, all he sees his anger, hurt, and pain. All Dean can feel is the heat of Castiel’s palm against his cheek. All he can feel is the hurt and pain in his own chest shattering into remorse.

“Cas. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t—”

“You’re not,” Castiel whispers, his voice raw, tired and broken, “you’re fucking not. Part of you is sorry, but not the part that wanted to fucking hurt me.” His lips flap open and shut like a fish that’d been plucked out of the water. His eyes are shimmering and his hand is shaking. He shakes his head, his throat so impossibly tight as he rushes to the front door, throws it open, and slams it shut as he runs out into the hallway.

He leaves Dean behind in the wake of his fury. Leaves Dean behind to fall to his knees and sob like a man that’d been broken down into pieces; that had watched the world crumble due to his own design.

But Castiel doesn’t dwell on it—he does, even when he tries and forces himself not to. He’s driving and wonders for a split second if it’s raining when tears well up in his eyes. He begs them not to fall; not to fall in the deafening silence of his own car as he drives aimlessly and doesn’t realize where he’s going until he pulls up in the suburb half an hour away from San Franciso where his sister lives.

He gets out, goes up to the front door, and jabs the doorbell endlessly until Raphael throws the door open. Her hair rolled up into hair curlers and tucked beneath a satin scarf. Irritation blankets her face as she looks about ready to tell off a telemarketer, but stops when she sees Castiel standing on her porch.

“Bigfoot?” Her brows pinch together, “You know you’re supposed to pick up Claire later. The kids are watching a movie, but I can—” she pauses; stops herself when she catches the tremble of his lower lip. “Castiel?” She rarely ever uses his actual name. Has always chalked it up to the unwritten first rule of siblinghood. _ You never call your siblings by their actual name_, she’d told him once, _ it gives them too much power_.

“Raphe—” his lips tremble, the tears falling freely from his eyes now as he pitches forward to press his face against her shoulder. He sobs loudly as he wraps her arms around him.

“It’s going to be okay,” she murmurs against his cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: July 31 (we'll be back to our usual semi-painful chapter next time)


	16. Things Get Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back to a regular semi-painful chapter. This chapter includes Dean talking about his trauma, so if you feel want to skip where it starts to say Raiders of the Lost Ark and it'll be safe to read again when you see "do I remind you of him?"

**November 4, 2005**

“Here we go!” A smile slips onto Castiel’s face as he lifts Claire from her car seat and deposits her onto the asphalt of the driveway. He’s reaching into the car to grab her backpack when he hears her squeal.

“Dean!” 

Castiel pulls himself out of the car, turns quickly enough to see Dean leaning against his car and Claire trying to rush toward him. “Claire!” He barks so loudly that it has his daughter pausing in her steps, twisting her body to face him with confusion plastered onto her face so thickly that her ocean-blue eyes seem to dim, that childlike exuberance temporarily stamped out. Her gaze darts between him and Dean. She looks torn. He pulls her backpack out of the car and slams the door shut, holds his hand out toward her. “Take Daddy’s hand, we’re going inside.”

“But—” she tries to protest.

“Claire!” He snaps, guilt festering in his heart when he sees his daughter flinch from the frustration that bleeds into his tone.

She reluctantly glances at Dean before marching over to take her father’s hand.

Dean pushes himself off of his car, “Cas...wait...please.” He stalks after Castiel and Claire, but Castiel doesn’t even look at him as he all but drags Claire to the porch, shoves his keys into the lock, and slams the door in Dean’s face.

Claire’s upset all day and Castiel knows why, but its the elephant in the room that they don’t address until it’s bedtime and he’s ruffling her hair after their nighttime prayers. “Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

Claire fumbles with her blanket, her little fingers picking at the stray threads of fabric that poke away from the material, the batman themed bear Dean got her tucked into the crook of her left arm. “...Did Dean do something wrong?”

He pauses, his lips twisting as he tries to boil down a complex adult problem into a way that it was fitting for a child. “Dean...Dean said something that hurt Daddy. So we’re not talking right now.”

Claire pauses as she casts a glance up at the ceiling and then at her father’s face. “I hope you and Dean make up.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, Just finds himself quickly thinking about how despite being a child, his own daughter often can read a situation and think rationally about it better than most adults. Leaning toward her with puckered lips, he kisses her forehead and tells her goodnight. He flicks off her bedroom light and heads back downstairs to turn off all the lights and draw the curtains shut before heading to bed himself. He can hear the pitter-patter of rain hitting the house as he walks barefoot on the wooden floors. It’s soothing he notes as he heads to the living room windows to draw the curtains shut, but pauses as he peers out into the darkness. 

“What the fuck?” He curses as he heads to the front door and throws it open, revealing Dean sitting on the steps of his porch, his clothes and hair plastered to his skin, dripping wet from the rain pouring down. “Dean, what the hell?”

He steps out onto the porch, the cool wood feeling like ice to his bare feet, just as Dean turns to show him what a broken man looks like. His eyes are still puffy but there’s water trailing down his cheeks that Castiel is uncertain is tears or the rain. Without a word, Dean gets up, walks toward Castiel, and collapses onto his knees. His arms wrap around Castiel’s waist as he presses his face into the man’s stomach and sobs, a mantra of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” falling from his lips as his whole body shakes against him.

Castiel sighs as he pats Dean’s back; the sound of the rain mingling with his sobs.

It’s nearly a good amount of minutes later when Castiel is pressing a mug of hot tea into Dean’s hands. There’s a blanket wrapped around Dean’s shoulders and most of his clothes that were dripping wet are currently tumbling in the dryer. Castiel leans against the kitchen counter, peering at Dean with his arms loosely hanging at his sides.

“We can’t continue like this—we can’t move forward—unless you tell me what’s going on with you. Unless you’re 100% honest with me. Unless you tell me everything.”

Dean wrings his hands together, takes one deep breath after the other, but doesn’t look at Castiel. “I—I don’t know if I can talk about what happened to me. What happened to me when I was a kid.” His words are shaky, throat tight to the point that it feels almost painful to swallow.

Castiel’s eyes narrow, tongue darting out to swipe across his lips, his gaze sweeps up to stare at the ceiling. “I—” he starts at first, his words dying quicker than they can form in his mouth. Letting out a deep sigh, he shakes his head, “—look I—I don’t want to push you. Not like I did the day before. If you don’t want to talk about this we don’t—”

It’s Dean’s turn to shake his head, throat still tight, his lips pull into a bitter smile, “—if I don’t talk about this, when will I ever?” He asks Castiel, who blinks at him, features calm and steady as if the shitty boat Dean finds himself on has finally drifted into the eye of the storm. “My dad had this friend...Jim...he ugh—he used to take care of me and Sam a lot whenever my dad would be in the town he lived in or was experiencing one of his episodes.”

“His episodes?”

Dean nods, “My dad was—is—schizophrenic. It got worse after my mom died, she was the only thing that really kept him together. She made sure he was always taking his meds and after her death, he stopped taking them. Regularly at least. Sometimes he’d fall right off the deep end, just go out for days at a time, come back, rant about demons and pass out. Some days he’d be like the dad I fondly remembered. He wouldn’t have hallucinations or hear any of the voices that typically spoke to him; those days were good,” Dean recounts with a fond smile, like someone who didn’t see too many of them but when he did he cherished them. “He’d take me and Sam out to see a movie, get us pizza and hamburgers, give us a couple of quarters to play in the arcade. We’d get to be kids again. Felt what it was like to not have to worry about where your next meal would come from. Whether it was a frozen microwave dinner or chowing on stale popcorn and cereal that Dad had left behind. Sometimes he’d forget to leave us enough money for food when he left me and Sam in a motel room, so I got good at stealing stuff, hustling for it, or gambling for money. Made a real fortune out of hustling regulars out of their money in a pool game. But uh, Dad, would sometimes leave us with Jim.

“He was a cool dude—I thought he was cool—he’d let us eat whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it. We never had to go hungry or worry about getting caught stealing Twinkies from a 7/11. We’d stay at his house whenever Dad was out somewhere doing god knows what.” He swallows thickly, his fingers pressing against the porcelain of the mug. “When I was 9, Dad dumped me and Sam at Jim’s place.” His eyes are shimmering as he remembers the event like it was yesterday. “This wasn’t the only time Dad had done this; he’d done it so often that Jim had a spare key made that he’d hid under a plant for us if we showed up and he wasn’t there.

“But he was this time. He let us in, put on a movie for Sam to watch. I remember it,” Dean says with a bitter smile, “it was  _ Raiders of the Lost Ark _ . I remember being so jealous that Sam got to watch it. I could hear it from the other parts of the house. But uh, Jim...Jim took me to the kitchen and gave me a beer. Told me I was  _ special _ ; that I was old enough to have one. A little secret between me and him.” Dean swallows as the memories wash over him. “I remember drinking one beer and then another until Jim touched my back and asked me if I wanted to play an interesting game in his room; a game that Sam couldn’t play, but I could because I was old enough.” 

Dean’s hands are shaking; his throat so tight that he fears for the words to come out. But Castiel doesn’t say a word as he lifts his arms from his sides to touch the back of Dean’s hand. A comforting touch that Dean briefly smiles at.

“We, uh, we went up to his bedroom….he—he placed me down on the bed and kept telling me I was a good boy; kept telling me that I was good as he unzipped his pants.” His voice is shaky as he takes another steadying breath. “I remember asking him what he was doing, but he told me that it was all a part of the special game we were going to play. He...he took my hand and...put it inside of his pants...he made me touch him.”

Dean’s shaking, even as Castiel’s touch becomes firmer. Fingers curling so that the pads of flesh are pressing into Dean’s hand. He stamps down the anger he feels in his chest. Feels for this man who’d ripped Dean’s innocence away under the guise of being a solace amongst the unstable life the Winchester boys had, it takes everything in him to remind him that he needs to be the emotional rock that Dean needs at the moment. So he lets his anger go, lets it bleed away from him through the steady breaths he pulls in through his nose and forces out of his mouth.

“It was gross,” Dean murmurs, “I remember thinking it was gross when he...when he finished in my hand. He made me swear up and down that I’d never tell anyone about our ‘ _ special game _ .’ I never even told my own Dad.” His mouth opens, his throat was impossibly tight as he forces a breath out. “We left his house later that day when Dad came to pick us up....it was a couple of months later when we stopped by his house and Dad left us there for a month. Jim—he—he made me touch him again. But this time...he...touched me too.” He’s crying now. The tears thick on his cheeks.

“When I was 12 it got worse. We hadn’t gone to Jim’s place for about eight months and...I remember being so happy. I was wetting the bed at this point and I remember being so happy not having to be at his house. But Dad—Dad drove us there and told us we’d be staying there for a couple of months; that God needed him to go out and hunt down demons, but he’d be back for us.” He bows his head, his tears so thick he can hardly see through them.

“I remember he made me take a bath after Sam had been fed. He put on some cartoons for Sam, gave him a whole bunch of snacks, and turned up the TV so loud that you couldn’t even hear anything else except it. He told Sam that I was going to help him with something, but that he could stay up as late as he wanted. When he came upstairs, I was already on the bed...I was...I was so scared. So, so scared when he made me lay down. I begged for him to stop, but he threatened to grab Sam, force him to play the game we were playing until I was crying and begging for him not to. He...he made me take him in his mouth...forced that...that  _ thing _ inside of me.” Dean feels like he’s going to throw up. “He did it nearly every day until Dad picked us up. By the time I was 13, I don’t know what happened, but Dad dropped by early. Found Sam downstairs by himself and asked where I was. He told Dad I was in Jim’s bedroom and well...he stormed up and found Jim touching me...he pulled me out of there and got me and Sam in the car. Left us at the motel for a bit until he came back and—he tried drowning me in the bathtub in order to get me ‘clean’ after what...after what Jim did.”

“Dean—” Castiel’s eyes are blown wide in his head; blown so wide from the shock that the one man who was supposed to protect Dean had compounded onto the problem, “—oh my god, Dean.”

“It’s fine,” Dean shakes his head, “it’s fine. After that I...I sort of stomped everything down. Sort of focused on making myself be this model macho man. I chased after chicks...and found it a little easier when they took control of everything...and I mean  _ everything _ . But with you...it’s different.”

Castiel sighed, his hand sliding up from the back of Dean’s hand to cup his cheek. “Dean...do I remind you of him?”

“No!” Dean says a little hurriedly, “no..no you don’t...it’s just...I don’t know. My brain feels you; feels—” Dean struggles to find the words, “—my brain just—”

Castiel shakes his head, “—you don’t need to explain. But you need to get help for this Dean...if you want to be with me, you need to get help for this.”

“I know,” Dean nods.

“Even if you didn’t end up with me; ended up with someone else, or a woman, this would have come up sooner or later.”

“I know, Dean repeats and pauses, “I’m sorry...for everything. For what I said, I’m truly sorry.” 

“I know,” Castiel pats his cheek, “I know.”

**November 11, 2005**

“Dean Winchester?” Dean glances up from the magazine he’d idly been thumbing through for the past 15 minutes and stands up when a plump black woman pokes her head out of her office. She smiles at him and waves him in. He gets up and walks into her office; it’s homely and covered with dozens of plants that make the place smell calmingly sweet.

He takes a seat in a dark, leather back chair she has in the office. It’s twin facing him. She sits down in that one and folds her hands neatly in her lap. His eyes flicker to the awards lined up neatly on the wall.  _ Missouri Moseley _ each one neatly reads. 

“So,” Dean breathes out, shoving his hands into the pocket of his leather jacket, “how do we start this?”

“We don’t,” she replies, quickly explaining what she means by that when Dean’s brows shoot up into the air. “I recognized your last name after my secretary booked you down for an appointment. Is John Winchester your Daddy by any chance?” There’s a slight southern twang to her words.

“Yes…” he nods hesitantly.

“Yea,” she nods as if already confirming a fact she knew, “I knew your Daddy and Mama back in the day, so I feel it would be unprofessional for me to be impartial as your therapist because of this.”

“So...we’re not going to have a session?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “and you don’t have to pay for this one, but what I can do is give you a referral to another therapist I know. She’s sweet and...has a lot more experience dealing with the kind of problems you want to talk about.” She plucks a book off of the end table next to her and hastily scribbles on a piece of paper that she tears out and hands to him. “Good luck, Dean.”

“Thanks,” he nods at her as he gets up and leaves. But she says something that makes him pause as he’s about to head out the door.

“You look a lot like her.” He turns, finding Missouri staring at him with a fondness in his eyes that’s covered by the thinnest layer of emotional vulnerability. Her eyes twinkle as if she’s remembering something fondly from the past, from another time before Dean had even been born.

“Who?” Dean chokes out.

“Mary,” Missouri whispers his mother’s name out so softly that it tugs at the fraying edges of memories Dean has of a woman that fades out of his mind with every passing year. “You look a lot like her. Especially the eyes and the face.” Missouri gestures at Dean.

“You knew her well?” Dean finds himself asking.

“We were close,” she replies, there’s a slight frigidness to her words that hints  _ once _ . That they’d been close enough once before that relationship had frozen over. “Moved out here a little bit after Mary had you...we lost contact after that.”

He wants to ask why. Wants to know more about a woman that he hardly remembers and could never pry information out of his dad about her. But he just nods, files away the fact that he knows Missouri’s office’s phone number and knows that when he needs questions answered he can always just reach out to her. “I’ll see you around.” He tells her, catching the little tilt of her mouth that imparts the fact that she knows their next meeting won’t be in her offices but in a more casual setting.

Dean sets up an appointment with the new therapist, that Missouri had referred to him, for later in the day and heads to her office. He steps in and finds himself staring at a blind woman, her walkingstick neatly folded in her lap, and a pair of black sunglasses perched on her nose. “Dean Winchester?”

“That’s me.”

She gestures to the seat across from her. “I’m Pamela, please take a seat.” She smiles warmly at him as he sinks down into the chair across from her.

“I’ve never done this before, so...what do I do?”

She smiles as if she’s dealt with questions like his before, “for now we just talk...sometimes patients like to pet Lavender.”

“Lavender?” Dean questions as Pamela points to the Golden Retriever that’s curled up in the corner of the room. Lavender notices Dean in the office and comes over to him, her tail wagging as she rests her head on his knee. He pats her head and scratches her scalp idly.

“Shall we begin?” Pamela asks him with a smile.

Dean nods, though it’s more so for his benefit than hers. He starts to talk and doesn’t end until their time is up.

**November 17, 2005**

Dean’s curled up on the couch, his phone pressed against his ear, and his leg propped over his knee.

“How are you feeling?” Castiel’s voice rumbles into the phone.

“I’m feeling...better,” Dean responds, truthfully. He’s been going to therapy twice a week now with Pamela and it feels good to talk to someone and even pet Lavender when he realizes he’s shaking or having a panic attack. He’s even going to a therapy group at her urging for other survivors like himself—Dean had tried saying he was a victim, but Pamela had cut him short.

_“Dean, you’re a survivor. The term victim is weighted and comes with a connotation that for many can be negative. It can retrap you in your own grief and trauma without you realizing it. So instead of saying you’re a victim, next time call yourself a survivor, because that’s what you are. You’re here in my office, breathing, healthy, and alive because you survived.”_ _She’d told him_.

So yea, Dean was—is—a survivor who goes to therapy twice a week and attends group therapy on Sunday’s. 

“It’s good to hear that,” Castiel tells him, he can hear the sounds of the hospital through the phone along with the tiredness in his voice. “I hope therapy went well.”

“It did. Pamela told me that I should open up to others in my family about what happened to me. It doesn’t have to be right away, but she says its best to build a support circle that I can lean back on.”

Castiel hums on the other end of the phone and then lets out a rather loud yawn.

“I can hang up and let you catch some sleep, it’s only—” he pauses, his eyes flicking up to stare at the clock on the wall, “—11. I can hang up and let you rest.”

“No,” Castiel huffs with a tired chuckle, “I like hearing your voice. Besides, I can rest when my shift is over in two hours.” He yawns again. “Have you told Sam? About what happened to you as a kid?”

“No...but I was going to sit him down at some point and tell him. I don’t know when, but I’ll do it at some point.”

“Hey, angel boy!” Dean can hear someone on the other end of the line, “got a patient in bay three for you to look at.”

Castiel groans, “Dean, I have to go. But call me if you need anything, alright?”

“I will.” Dean bids him goodbye before hanging up.

**November 18, 2005**

Dean’s sitting in Pamela’s office again.

Surprisingly the place smells like lavender this time around. Lavender—the dog, not the scent—is sitting in his lap, despite the fact that she and he aren’t big enough for the chair he’s sitting in to comfortably hold them both.

Her head is pressed against his chest, but Dean’s rubbing her tummy as she slowly blinks up at him. Every minute or so her tongue flicks out to lick at his jaw in appreciation.

“How have these last days been for you, Dean?” Pamela’s hands are laced together in her lap. Her sunglasses are neatly folded up and placed onto the end table next to her. 

Dean had asked her about them when he came in, but she had laughed and said that she’d taken them off because the lights were bothering her eyes. He’d been unable to tell if that was a joke until she’d started laughing.

“They’ve been good. I had a nightmare last night, but I woke up and tried the meditative exercises you’d recommended for me.”

She nods at that, “What was the nightmare about?”

“I was back in the motel room again—the one where my Dad drowned me in the bathtub, but instead of it being him it was my boyfriend this time around.”

She nods, forcing her fingers into a steeple together. “And the last time you had this nightmare it was your brother instead of your Dad? And before that, it was your adoptive Dad?” 

“Yeah.”

She hums, tapping the tips of her fingers together. “Oftentimes, our subconscious can be a reflection of the things we fear. Maybe you’re subconscious is trying to tell you that you fear your brother, adoptive Dad, and partner hurting you the same way that your biological father hurt you.”

Dean nods at that as Lavender licks the tips of his fingers. Pamela glances at the clock, “It seems our time is almost up. Remember what I said about practicing your breathing techniques when you’re having a panic attack.”

He pats Lavender’s stomach, the dog whines, and huffs at him as it wiggles his way out of his lap and down to the floor.

When he leaves his therapy appointment, he ends up stopping at Subway, picking up some sandwiches for him and Sam. He drives back to his apartment and finds Sam already waiting at his door for him.

“You know I have a spare key hidden under the mat right? You could have let yourself in.”

Sam rolls his eyes as Dean pushes open the front door. They end up eating with Sam talking to him about some new girl that he’s dating—the one that Dean had seen him talking to the last time he’d been at the library.

He pauses midbite of his sandwich to look at his brother, “So, what was it that you called me over here to talk about?”

Dean chews slowly on the meatball sub in his hands. “I’m...in therapy.”

Light burns in Sam’s eyes, his lips tugging into a grin as he sets down his sweet onion, chicken teriyaki sub onto the coffee table. “Dean, that’s great! I’ve been telling you for years that once you open up about what Dad did to us it’s like getting a lead weight removed from your chest.”

Dean pauses, rooting around in his mind for the right choice of words, “I’m not just in therapy because of what Dad did to us…”

The smile slips from Sam’s lips, the light dimming in his eyes as he stares at his brother. His mouth unseams itself. “What...what are you trying to say?”

“Do you remember Jim? Dad’s friend?”

“Yea...like Pastor Jim? That Jim?” Dean nods. “What about him?”

“He, uh, he—” Dean pauses, the words trapping themselves in his throat. 

_ Don’t be afraid to say what happened to you, Dean _ . Pamela had told him once at their earlier meetings.  _ Sometimes it can be hard for people who’ve been through what you’ve been through to verbally say the proper words for what’s been done to them. I’ve seen people try to sugarcoat it, skirt around it, or outright deny it. But at the end of the day, everyone has to confront what’s happened to them. Whether it be to themselves or others. So whenever you find yourself unable to voice out what’s happened to you Dean, remember to take a deep breath. _ He takes a deep breath and steadies himself.

“Do you remember all the times Jim would tell you I was going to help him with something?” Sam nods. “Well, I wasn’t.”

“Dean—” Dean shakes his head, he needs to say it. Even if it hurts him to do so.

“I wasn’t helping him. Not really…he was...he was molesting me, Sam.”

Sam tenses up beside him, his hands curling into fists that he keeps rested against his knees. Dean glances up to find his brother’s face red with anger, the word pissed doesn’t even begin to describe the emotion that flits across Sam’s face.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Sam splutters out, “I’m going to find him and fucking kill him. So is that why Dad—?” Dean nods. “I’m going to kill Dad too.”

“Don’t,” Dean says softly, his hand flying to the sleeve of Sam’s shirt. “Just don’t. I’m dealing with it, in a healthy way this time, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head, his hand flying to drag through the locks of his hair. “Are you ever going to talk to Dad?”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t really know. That’s the best I can tell you. Maybe I will at some point, but I’m trying to take everything slow right now.”

Sam purses his lips together. “Does Bobby know?”

“I don’t know.” Dean tells him, “he probably has inklings that something happened to me from the way I acted as a kid, but I don’t know. We never talked about it, and I don’t want to tell him just yet. Not when he still wants to fill Dad’s chest with a ton of buckshot.”

They end up talking some more. Not about Dean’s painful past of course, but they talk about anything and everything until Sam leaves and Dean is reclined on his bed. His phone is pressed against his ear with Castiel’s voice rumbling on the other end.

“I’m so ready for Christmas to come. I feel like I’m running thin since I’m getting pulled every which way to see new patients. When Christmas comes I’m shutting off my phone unless the hospital needs me.”

“You sound tired,” Dean points out, “maybe you need a massage to get you through your week? How about I show up with some oils at your place later?”

Dean can hear Castiel pause at the sexual innuendo; he pauses for so long that Dean’s just about to pull his phone away from his ear and check if the call had disconnected. 

“How...how is that portion of your life going?” Castiel finally asks after the long pause. 

“Uh,” Dean mutters, “my therapist Pamela—” Pamela was not only a therapist but also certified as a sex therapist as well, “—told me that it takes time for people in my situation to refind and come to terms with their sexuality again. That oftentimes people handle this situation differently. So she recommended that I rediscover my sexuality both in and outside of my relationship. So she recommends I fantasize, watch porn, that sort of thing. You know see what triggers me and what doesn’t.”

“So,” Castiel breathes out, “how do you feel about dirty jokes?”

“I’m fine with them. I did just make one after all. Besides what happened to me as a kid isn’t going to kill my love for sexual humor.”

“Alright, what about dirty talking?”

“Oh?” Dean hummed, “are you saying you want to talk dirty to me, Mr. Novak?”

“You’re an ass,” Castiel mutters through a chuckle, “alright, so what if I tell you I want to bend you over the kitchen counter and take you?”

“Oh, is this the part where we start dirty talking with each other?” Dean chuckles, his body relaxing against his sheets. “Because I’m pretty certain this is either illegal or several shades of wrong considering you’re at work and all.”

“Maybe it is,” Castiel hums, “but don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

“Oh, I am enjoying it.” 

“Right, so how would you feel if I’ve told you you’ve been a good boy?”

Dean feels his muscles tense. “I—I don’t...can we avoid calling me that?”

“Right, struck off the list then.”

“Yea, I just...don’t think I want to be called that in the bedroom.”

“The bedroom?” Castiel inhales the question, almost like Dean has pulled the breath out of his lungs.

“Yea...I want to have sex with you at some point. Not because I want to—well I do—but because I trust you too. I know we might have to take it slow for now, especially after I hurt you, and because I have to figure myself out. But I do want to have sex with you at some point, Cas.”

“I can do that,” Castiel tells him breathlessly, “so what are you wearing right now?”

Dean throws his head back and laughs vigorously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: August 14


	17. Love Is the Oldest Poem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or as I like to call this chapter: the one where I went really ham on the smut in this that I contemplated becoming a nun.

**November 20, 2005**

“What are you and Sam doing for Christmas?” 

Dean pauses over the meat he’s currently browning in a skillet to use for the tacos he’s helping Castiel make. Claire is drumming her feet against the kitchen stool as she shades in the ladybug in the coloring book she’s working on. 

“Well, Sam and I are going back to South Dakota to celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas.”

Castiel’s right brow rose in a questioning glance, “You’re Jewish?”

A quick laugh left Dean’s lips as he shook his head. “No, Bobby—my adopted dad—his friend is Jewish and he’s been like an uncle to us so we’ve celebrated Hanukkah since I was a kid. It’s become something of a tradition. But because Hanukkah starts on the same day as Christmas this year we’re celebrating it and Christmas early since we usually combine the two holidays into one, but I should be back before Christmas. Why’d you ask?”

“Claire wanted to know if you were planning on spending Christmas with us.” Dean’s heart fluttered inside of his chest as he glanced at Claire who was busy trying to sneakily open the bag of shredded cheddar cheese Castiel had placed on the island.

“I can,” Dean tells him.

“Good,” Castiel smiles at him, “we usually find a Christmas tree the first week of December, so if you’re up for it you can join us for that too. Also, my hospital is throwing a sort of late Christmas party too if you’re interested in going...you don’t have to come of course.”

“Is that your way of saying you want me to go?” Dean leans in close toward Castiel, his eyes flickering briefly at his lips.

“Maybe?” There’s a lilting, joking tone that wraps around Castiel’s question. He’s grinning widely as he leans in closer, narrowing the distance between both men until…

“Gross!” Both men pull apart to glance at Claire whose eyes are narrowed as she stares at Dean and her father. “Are you and Daddy swapping cooties?”

Both Dean and Castiel wrapped themselves in laughter as Claire shook her head and went back to her coloring. 

“Do you mind asking Sam if he’s not busy on Christmas either? He’s more than welcome to join us.”

“Last I heard from Sam, he’s planning to spend Christmas with some new girl that he’s dating. “

“Well if Sam’s plans change for Christmas he’s more than welcome to join us, or the Christmas Eve dinner my family is hosting.”

“I’ll make sure to tell Sam about it.”

Later that day when he’s back at his own apartment he does. 

“I’m not dating anyone so I can show up,” Sam’s voice drifts in from the speaker on Dean’s phone.

“What?” Dean grumbles around the chocolate chip cookie he’s munching on, “what happened to the chick you were just dating?” He questions as his eyes flicker up to some game show that’s playing on his TV.

“We broke up,” Dean can almost hear the shrug Sam gives him, “we both realized that we just weren’t going to be compatible in the long run.”

“Dude, what even is your criteria for compatibility? She was smoking hot!”

“Dean,” Sam chastises him, “you better than anyone should know that there’s a lot more to a relationship that someone being smoking hot.”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed as he snorted softly, “can’t relate. Cas’ hotness blinds me to all other things.”

On the other end of the phone, Sam mock gagged at Dean’s words. “You’re so gross you ass. What day are you free next week? We should meet up for lunch since there’s not much to do on campus anymore.”

“I’d have to look at my schedule, but Sunday’s are a no go since that’s when my group meets up….so...you’re single now...I think I know the perfect person to set you up with.”

Sam let out a loud groan, “Dude, do not try to set me up with Garth’s sister again.”

Dean cackled at his brother’s expense.

**November 23, 2005**

Dean shoves Sam’s feet off of the couch as he plops down with his container of fried rice and general tso chicken. A pair of chopsticks stick up from the mound of food, Dean grasps the chopsticks between his fingers as he picks up a piece of chicken that slips from between the wooden instruments and tumbles back down into the container. He frowns at it despite Sam laughing at his struggle.

“I’m seeing someone new,” Sam remarks as he watches Dean put his mouth near the container and try to shovel the food into his mouth. “Here,” he shakes his head as he grabs Dean’s chopsticks, pulls a rubber band from his pocket and ties the two chopsticks together with them before he gives them back to his brother. 

“That was quick, who is it?”

“Kezia.”

Dean nearly chokes on his food as he whips his head to stare at his brother, his eyes are blown so wide in his head that they nearly resemble saucer cups. “What is wrong with you!?” Dean cries out, rice flying from the corner of his lips. There’s only one woman on this planet with that name that he and Sam know of; one woman that the two of them grew up with closely enough that she was like a cousin to them. “Do you want Rufus to kill you?”

Sam, however, doesn’t seem to fear such a notion. “Rufus loves us like nephews, he's not going to do anything.”

“That’s the point, Sam.” Dean points at his brother with his chopsticks, “he loves us like _nephews_. You messing around with his daughter isn’t going to keep him from hunting you down and skinning you alive, especially when it comes to his own daughter.”

Sam just blinks at Dean, “Rufus wouldn’t do that...right?” He just shakes his head, disappointed at his brother’s death wish. “Well enough about me, how have you been?”

Dean shrugs as he stabs one of his chicken pieces with the end of his chopsticks. “‘S been alright. Therapy’s been going fine even if I have to dig up things I wish I could forget.”

“That’s great,” Sam responds after a lengthy pause. His lips pursed together as the mood in the room drops by a few degrees. 

“I don’t—” Dean pauses, “—I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with religion, not after what Dad put us through. Not the way he weaponized it when we grew up.”

“No, I get what you mean...have you...heard from him?” Sam stares down at the container of food he’s holding as if his veggie and cashew chicken stir fry will hold the answers he’s seeking. 

Dean simply shakes his head, “I heard more from Adam than I have him. Besides who needs him?”

Sam smiles at that, their conversation turning to some prank TV show that Gabriel was featured in.

**November 24, 2005** ****

Making his way through the hospital, Dean gave a small wave at Meg as he sauntered over to the nurses’ station with a carefully tied plastic bag in his hand. Meg pointed at the bag with the tip of her pen. “Is that for lover boy?”

He nodded, “We’re having a lunch date.” 

“Ooh,” Meg cooed, “how romantic.” By the sharp roll of her eyes that she gave him, he could tell in her mind that it wasn’t. “Castiel is already in the break room, I’m sure you know where it is by now.”

Dean told her he’d see her at a bingo game sometime, a joke that earned him a middle finger as soon as his back was turned away from her. Walking into the breakroom, Dean was unsurprised to find Castiel and Crowley seated at a table together. 

“Cas.” Castiel turns to give him the most gentle smile ever; one that makes Dean's heart flutter inside of his chest as he hopes to make Castiel smile at him that gently forever. “I brought you lunch.”

“A man truly after my own stomach,” Castiel laughs as he makes grabbing motions with his fingers at the plastic bag that Dean is holding before him.

“I almost died getting you your lunch,” Dean snorts as he places the bag down onto the table and watches Castiel undo the knot to reveal a bowl of salad with about a dozen toppings and a small sandwich.

There was a sharp laugh that fluttered out of Castiel’s throat as he leaned closer to Dean to plant a kiss on his cheek. “And you did well.”

Crowley let out a huff of annoyance at the couple as he turned his gaze away from them and back to an episode of Doctor Who that was playing on the break room tv. 

“So,” Castiel began as he poured the packet of thousand island dressing that came with the prepackaged salad all over his lunch, “are you staying over for Thanksgiving?”

A flush crept its way from up Dean’s neck to his cheeks as he confirmed that he will. Something that caused Crowley to groan in disgust. “Why don’t you two just shag already?”

Castiel rolls his eyes at the comment, merely points his fork in Crowley’s direction. “Just make sure you and your family are at my house at 6.”

“Yes,” the male nurse hisses, “I’ll make sure to have my wife also bring a butcher’s knife so I can slit my throat with it when you two start getting lovey-dovey at the dinner table.”

“I never pegged you as being married, Crowley,” Dean smirks at the British man, “never pegged you as the type of guy who enjoyed being in a relationship with anything other than his own right hand.” 

Crowley snorts at the joke; the two men having grown a semblance of a relationship that could be called “friendship” with how frequently Dean was coming every day to drop Castiel off lunch when neither men could have a proper one together. It was a relationship where both men could throw jokes at each other that might have seemed harsh or crude in nature, but where enough to make Crowley snort or crack a smirk on occasion.

“I may not look like I’m married since some of us like to not witness unnecessary displays of PDA at work, but I can say that unlike some my marriage is healthy because I enjoy a good bit of _pegging_.” Dean’s eyes aren’t the only one who bugs at such a joke; Crowley snorts as he takes a sip of his tea, satisfied that he has some momentary peace and quiet aside from the Doctor’s monologue on screen. 

**November 26, 2005**

The day of Thanksgiving finally rolls around, Dean’s in the kitchen helping Castiel prepare dinner while Claire is sitting on the couch in the living room watching cartoons. It’s 15 minutes to 6 when the doorbell rings and Dean opens it to find Crowley dressed in a black button-up shirt and dark jeans with a bottle of wine in his right hand and his left resting on the shoulder of his five-year-old son, Gavin. Crowley’s wife Celeste beams at him with the most radiant smile on this planet.

And in Dean’s opinion, he’s equally intrigued by her as much as she is with him. Celeste, in no simpler terms, look like she walked straight out of Woodstock in her long maroon pants, a white and yellow top knotted at one end near her hip, a jacket thrown over it and a silk scarf keeping her braids carefully tucked back in the messy ponytail she kept them in. Dean glances at Gavin who is dressed in some jeans and a black shirt with a skeletal torso on it. He takes one sweeping look at this mismatched family, just as Castiel rushes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. 

“You guys are here!”

“And we brought wine!” Celeste points to the bottle her husband is holding.

Castiel thanks them as Crowley hands him the bottle of rich white wine. With dinner not quite ready, Castiel told Gavin that he was free to play in the living room with Claire as all the adults headed to the kitchen as the chicken was still roasting in the oven and the appetizers were being kept warm in there as well.

“Would anyone like some wine as we wait?” Castiel shakes the bottle of white in his hand. Celeste is the only one to decline and ask for a glass of water instead.

Castiel just blinks at her, a grin stretching across his face as his gaze briefly flickers to her stomach. “Are you pregnant?”

She huffs, her plump lips pushing outward into a pout. “This is why it’s aggravating that my husband is friends with a bunch of nurses and doctors.” She pats her stomach, her pout dissolving into a grin. “But, yep, five months along tomorrow.”

“Boy or girl?” Castiel asks as he gathers three wine glasses and a single glass and fills them up with the requested drinks. 

“A girl,” she answers, her grin so infectious that Dean can’t help but smile too, “at least this time I can name her unlike we did with Gavin.” She stares pointedly at her husband who rolls his eyes in response and presses a peck against his wife’s cheek.

“Gavin is a perfectly suitable name,” Crowley sniffs, indignation rife in the way he upturns his nose at such an affront; as if his wife saying Gavin was an _unsuitable _name for common American society, despite its blending pot nature. “It has Celtic roots and it means white hawk, anyway.”

“Yes, yes,” Celeste pats his hand reassuringly, “I still would have preferred if we had named him Rowan. He and I agreed when we first found out I was pregnant with Gavin that we each could name a kid. He got the firstborn and I get this one in me now.” She pats her stomach tenderly as she crooks a brow at her husband. “We’re naming her Amara.”

“That’s a pretty unique name,” Dean tells her, but from the way Crowley’s nose wrinkles slightly he can tell the man doesn’t share the same sentiment.

“Alright, this is enough talk about my baby,” Celeste waves the conversation away with a sharp movement of her hand, “I can feel her kicking me in the ribs. Instead,” she dark brown eyes that seem weighted with years of experience glance between Dean and Castiel, “how did you two meet? I’ve always been interested since my attentive husband here always comes home and complains about having to see you two make out at work.”

That’s a weighted question, Dean thinks to himself, knowing full well his story of meeting Castiel in the park because his daughter got lost and he was there that day contemplating downing a bottle of pills wouldn’t make it in the Disney book of romantic “this is how we met” stories.

“We met at the park,” Castiel answers for him, reaching out to deliver a reassuring touch to the back of his hand, it’s just a brush of his fingertips against the skin, but it's enough to soothe Dean, “we hit it off and it’s like we’ve known each other for an eternity.”

Tears spring to Celeste’s eyes, raising a single hand to press against her mouth, she gushes out, “That’s so romantic.”

There’s a tenderness to Crowley’s action as he leans closer to his wife to brush a stray tear off of her cheek and kiss the skin. “I don’t need you balling your eyes out at dinner, dear.”

She smiles at him, smacks his arm as she playfully tells him, “I’m emotional because my hormones are wacky since someone knocked me up.”

“Well, I can’t help it that my wife is a walking spring goddess.”

Dean thinks he’s going to barf as he watches Celeste and Crowley Eskimo kiss at the kitchen island. From the quick glance he gives Castiel, the doctor looks about ready to do the same. 

Dinner quickly arrives and everyone moves to the dining room. It’s a beautiful spread of roasted chicken and vegetables, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a quick salad. Once they’re all seated at the table, Dean asks Crowley how he and his wife met. Crowley tells him that they met at Bats Day in the Fun Park; a festival held at the Disney Resort in Anaheim. It’s a gothic festival that Crowley attended because he was...Crowley and Celeste ended up going to with some friends of hers because they thought the “energy” of the festival seemed interesting. Whatever that meant. Crowley went on to explain that the festival was a three-day event with a goth market, food, costumes, music, and a trip to Disneyland. 

“Oh,” Celeste laughs as she sets down her fork. Castiel is up and clearing away the plates to make room for dessert, “I saw him dressed up and he reminded me of a vampire, not any of this new-fangled stuff but like Bela Lugosi’s Dracula and there was something about his energy that was so infectious.”

“It didn’t help that I’m also incredibly handsome as well,” Crowley snorts.

Celeste smiles at him, she lifts her hand to scratch at the stubble gracing his jaw. “It also didn’t help that you have an amazing accent as well.” The two of them put their forehead together and rub their noses against one another. Gavin makes fake retching noses at his parents' display of affection, Dean can’t help but smile at that as he doesn’t blame the kid for his reaction.

Dean smiles as Castiel returns, setting down plates of warm, freshly baked apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream before everyone. Love burned in Dean’s eyes as Castiel sat down in his seat with a wink. “You two seem like you’re on such different wavelengths,” Dean points out as he sinks his spoon into his pie, “I’d never imagine you two to be together, much less married and with kids.”

Crowley shrugs, “What can I say, opposites do seem to attract each other. Celeste has always been a bit of a free spirit just like her parents, but growing up I was always taught by my mum and dad to never look at someone’s surface but beyond it...didn’t help that mum was a practicing pagan and dad was a protestant, either.”

Dessert passes by fairly quickly with Celeste, Crowley, and Gavin bidding goodbye to everyone as Dean and the Novak family see them out the door. Claire’s already in bed by the time that Castiel comes down to help Dean dry the dishes that he’s washed. “Well that was fun,” Castiel murmurs as he rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder, his hands press against Dean’s side tentatively until his hands shift so that he can wrap his arms around Dean’s waist.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, turning his head slightly so he can press a kiss against the man’s temple. “It was aside from watching those two flirt.”

Snorting at that, Castiel tips his head slightly so that he can take a deep inhale of Dean’s sharp, pine needle scented cologne. “At least I can understand why Crowley always tells me he wants to slit his throat whenever he sees the two of us flirting.”

A sharp bark of laughter tumbles from Dean’s throat as he puts away the last dish. “Maybe we should have flirted as equally as hard as they were.”

“And let them see all the adorable expressions you make?” He asks Dean with a crook of his brow.

“You make it sound like you’d be jealous.”

“I would.” Dean turns around in Castiel’s grasp to stare at him, a smirk pulling on his lips as he brushes his thumb against the man’s cheeks

“I’m not tired,” Dean tells him, “what do you say we watch a movie?”

They end up on the couch, Bruce Almighty playing on the screen, but neither man is paying attention to the movie playing. Instead, Dean is reclined on the couch, his hands pressed against Castiel’s back as the man above him slips his tongue into his mouth. A choked moan rumbles in Dean’s throat as Castiel presses their bodies flush together, their tongues are slick and wet as they slide and twist together; a chaotic dance that has Dean shivering as the dopamine floods his brain. Castiel pulls away from him, breaking their kiss even as he plunges back down to pepper the exposed parts of Dean’s neck with kisses until he’s kissing, licking, and sucking on a junction of skin underneath Dean’s jawline and the juncture of his neck.

His head tips back, a soft moan slicing through the air as Dean squeezes his eyes shut and shudders, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he can’t help but smile. The pleasure sends a jolt from the base of his spine down to the tips of his toes and the top of his head, a single hand moves up from Castiel’s back to fist into the back of his head and tug on his hair. Moaning at the harsh treatment, Castiel gives the skin caught in his mouth a particularly hard suck that has Dean moaning as he mentally swears that that particular spot of skin is turning into an erogenous zone of its own.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean moans, turning his head to the side so that Castiel has to remove his lips; there’s an annoyed whine from the man that Dean silences with a searing kiss of his own. A kiss that has Castiel swearing he can see stars as Dean’s right-hand slides down to cup his ass, his left still tangled in the man’s dark hair. Squeezing the globe of flesh, Dean pulls his lips away from Castiel’s own to stare down at the swollen curve of the man’s bulge that’s pushing at the fabric of his jeans.

Castiel’s lips attach themselves to the lobe of Dean’s ear, his lips tugging on the flesh, his teeth lightly nipping and scraping it causing Dean’s brain to melt as he struggles to piece together words in a coherent sentence.

“Cas…” Dean moans, only to hear a hum in response. “I want to have sex with you.”

Those words are like ice-cold water being added to fire as Castiel pulls back, his hands flying up to cup Dean’s face so that he can stare at him. “Are you...are you sure?” He asks hesitantly, knowing that Dean’s words carry more weight with them than anyone else. “We can take this slow, Dean, we don’t have to do that tonight.”

Dean murmurs that he knows as he shifts his head so that Castiel’s right hand is pressed against his cheek, he shakes his head slightly so that Castiel’s palm is rubbing against him. “I just want to be intimate with you even if we don’t have sex tonight.”

There’s a flicker of light in Castiel’s eyes as he shifts off of the couch and holds his hand out for Dean to take. A thousand emotions flit across Dean’s face; a war of confusion, hesitancy, and lust that form a three-way battle until trust and love come to provide support for lust. A smile flits across Dean’s face as he takes Castiel’s hand and allows himself to be led up to the master bedroom. Castiel’s lips are on him as he guides Dean back into the room and toward the bed as he kicks the bedroom door shut.

Dean doesn’t even have time to take one good glance around the room before Castiel pushes him back onto the bed. Instead, Dean takes in Castiel’s visage, his mouth going dry as he stares up at his lover? Boyfriend? Paramour? Dean doesn’t know what word is best in this situation; what word is best to describe his situation and relationship with Castiel, but right now in his lust addled brain, he could care less. To him, in this particular situation, Castiel might as well be his god. The soft orange glow of bedside lamps chase away the shadows of the room, but also provide a bit of an orange outline for Castiel’s entire body. His blue eyes are dark with lust, two pools of dark seawater churning amidst a turbulent storm. He can’t help the sharp twitch that his cock does as he stares up at Castiel like he’s some Grecian god that came down from the heavens to bless Dean with a boon, luck, a fucking baby—Dean really didn’t pay attention to mythology when Sam had that period when he was 12 when Greek mythology was the biggest thing to be into at the time and Sam would never shut up about it. But the fact of the matter is is that he doesn’t care. Castiel could knock him up from his heavenly gaze alone and Dean would spread himself out on the bed and be ready to push out another one in nine months.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers as he watches Castiel slowly undo the buttons of his shirt, his head cocked to the side as he smirks at Dean as if this slow torture is anything but for Dean. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Dean’s fingers twitch with an eagerness to do something to speed all of this up. But Castiel reaches out and pushes Dean back onto the bed. 

“Don’t move,” Castiel growls out, his voice thick with lust and husky in a way that Dean hasn’t ever heard it until now as he gets down to the last two buttons. Dean shivers, his brain melting further until it's nothing but a puddle. 

Dean bites into his lower lip as Castiel undoes the last two buttons and then lets his shirt slide off of him and pool around his feet. Castiel leans forward, his lips brushing against Dean’s own, “What do you want me to do to you?” He asks his palm pressing firmly against Dean’s crotch. Experimentally he gives a firm rub causing Dean’s eyes to flutter shut.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Dean moans, his words soft enough and thick with lust that it has Castiel smirking. His brows are scrunched up together as Castiel presses his hand a little firmer against his bulge as if to remind Dean that he hasn’t exactly answered his question. “I want you to just….just touch me.”

Castiel seems to weigh Dean’s words in his head, giving him a sharp nod. “I can do that.” Dean doesn’t know what he means by that as Castiel climbs into bed behind Dean, his back pressed flush against the pillows lined up at the headboard. He wraps a single arm around Dean’s midsection and pulls the man toward him so that Dean’s clothed back is pressed against his bare chest.

“Just relax,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh as he reaches down and unbuttons Dean’s jeans, pulls down the fly and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs below, he pulls them down, just enough so that Dean lets out a hiss of pleasure once his cock is free of its confines.

Humming, Castiel reaches out and grasps Dean’s cock in his hand, the tip an angry shade of red and dripping wet from precum. “Jesus,” Castiel murmurs even as Dean gives him a look with a cocked brow.

“Isn’t it a little bad to be saying his name in vain especially when you have my dick in your hand?” He asks with a chuckle that’s quickly cut off and forced into a deep, throaty moan as Castiel’s grip on his dick tightens, his fist giving Dean’s member a few, sturdy tugs that have the muscles in his stomach doing flips and twists in him.

“I think he can forgive me for my transgressions for a little bit.” Castiel presses his lips against Dean’s cheek to hide the smile that’s worming its way across his face. His hand is hot around Dean’s cock as he tugs on the skin, the foreskin slipping back over the head as Castiel jerks it up and watches it get pulled down when he jerks downward. The heat from his hand and the sensation eat at Dean’s senses as he whimpers against Castiel.

His other arm is pressed against Dean’s chest, keeping him taught against him, but it may as well be a physical barrier that brings the man some comfort to squirm against his hold. “Oh god,” Dean hums as Castiel’s grip tightens slightly, his cock twitching in the palm of his hand, a bead of precum pearling on the head that Castiel breaks with a flick of his thumb to smear the liquid around on the head of his cock with the pad of his digit. “Oh!” Dean cries out, his mouth open in a wide oval, he tips his head back, exposing his neck for Castiel to pepper kisses against.

“You’re so wet for me,” Castiel murmurs against his skin.

A stream of moans tumble from Dean’s lips as Castiel’s grip on his cock turns into a slow, easy rhythm that’s almost torturous for Dean. It’s drawn out and slow, meant to prolong this erotic moment into one long symphony. In time when Dean would reflect back on this single night, reflect back on the warmth of Castiel’s body against his own and the pleasure that curled through him like a slow campfire flame, he would never be sure exactly of the babble of words that fell from his lips that night like a forgotten hymn.

“Oh god!” Dean cries out in a broken, stuttered moan; his back arches slightly against Castiel’s touch as he’s given a particularly firm tug as Castiel’s movements sped up, an almost stream-like quantity of precum dribbled from Dean’s cock. His cheeks have flushed a shade of autumn red as he turns and captures Castiel’s lips for a heated kiss. Castiel’s hands are almost flying over Dean’s shaft as he seeks to drown him in pleasure; a pleasure that’s almost euphoric, like watching ancient Egyptians build their first pyramid or watching a freshly baked apple pie being pulled out of the oven.

A pool of warmth just above Dean’s groin becomes unbearably hot as his toes curl, his cock twitches in Castiel’s fist signaling his impending release. “Are you close?” 

Dean can hardly push together letters to form a response, his brain is mush inside of him as he gives a jerking motion of his head. Castiel’s arm slides down to press his hand firmly against Dean’s stomach, the other man crying as the corners of his vision go fuzzy, his back arching almost painfully, the muscles in his thigh quivering as he babbles out a string of curses intermixed with Castiel’s name. His orgasm hits him like a punch to the chest; his cock twitches as the first rope of cum shoots out of him, arching in the air until it splatters on Dean’s groin and the back of Castiel’s hand. Dean’s face is burning as the rest of his release pumps out of him with each twitch, dribbling over the back of Castiel’s hand that’s still gripping him, still milking him for the rest of the cum that’s still churning inside of him.

His orgasm is like the waves of a sea, his heart beating wildly in his chest and all the muscles inside of his body tense until the laps of water recede away from the shore leaving Dean’s body in a relaxed state. His mind was clear, quiet, and calm for the first time for a long while.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, the only word he seems capable of saying tonight. Castiel pulls away from him, reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand beside the bed. He plucks a couple out and starts cleaning the both of them up and it isn’t until the soft tissue is swiping over the head of his cock that he realizes something. He turns slightly to peer at Castiel’s face. “Do you want me to…”

He shakes his head, his brows arching slightly as a flash of disappointment flits across Dean’s face. “Hey, Dean,” Castiel tosses the used tissues into the trashcan next to the left hand nightstand so that he can grab Dean’s face between his hands. “I’m not saying I don’t want you, I do, but,” he kisses Dean on the lips as he pulls away he brushes his thumb over them, “I’m good. I don’t need you to get me off because I did the same for you. I’m good enough knowing that you had fun and that’s enough for me.”

He wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulder as he scoots down so that he can recline against the absurd number of pillows on his bed. Who even needs this many pillows? Dean thinks to himself as he rests his head against Castiel’s chest.

“Besides,” Castiel sighs as he rubs small circles into Dean’s shoulder, “I think I nearly came from how hot you sounded just moaning my name.”

“Oh shut up,” Dean mutters, turning his head slightly so that he’s obscuring the smile that flits across his face into the crook of Castiel’s shoulder and neck.

“No, seriously,” Castiel laughs, light and content, “I wish I recorded it.” 

The two of them talk for a while, mostly about nothing, mostly about work or things they thought of in the week that reminded one man of the other. They talk until the clock on the nightstand dictates that it’s two in the morning in green neon colors, by the time the clock shows that it’s half an hour into two Dean is snoring softly against Castiel’s side. Carefully ungluing himself from Dean, he turns all the lights off and settles back down into the bed, the back of his hand ghosting against the side of Dean’s face as he presses their bodies together and soon follows him quickly into the depths of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: August 28


	18. House of Memories

**November 25, 2005**

Steam blooms around them, rising up from the steaming hot water that pelts both men’s skin. Dark locks of hair are plastered to Dean’s forehead as he tips his head back to allow Castiel access to his neck. A hot tongue presses against the column of his throat, his fingers are dripping wet as he scrambles to press them against Castiel’s ribs.

“Shit,” Castiel groans as Dean’s hips buck up at his touch, his cock pressed against Dean’s own. 

Dean had been bug-eyed this morning when Castiel had invited him into the shower, even more, wide-eyed when he’d watched the doctor strip down to his birthday suit and seen his flaccid dick. Whereas Castiel was average in length, he seemed girthier than Dean. A fact Dean confirmed when Castiel had pulled him into the shower and started to kiss him. It wasn’t long before both men were hard or Castiel had his hand wrapped around both of them. 

“Dean—” Castiel starts to moan, only to stiffen when there’s a knock on the bathroom door and the whining frustration of a small child.

“Daddy, I have to pee!”

Dean presses his lips together, stifling the laugh that threatens to come out of him as Castiel presses his forehead against Dean’s wet shoulder. “Can I ask for a rain check?”

Castiel shuts off the shower as Dean thinks about the least sexy things he can conjure up. Wrapping towels around themselves, Castiel pulls open the bathroom door to reveal Claire standing on the other side. She’s squirming, shifting her weight from one leg to the other with her thighs squeezed together, but stops when she notices Dean behind her dad.

Her eyes narrow, her gaze darts between both men. “Daddy, why are you and Dean in the bathroom together?”

A deep blush settles on Castiel’s cheeks as he shakes his head at his daughter and reaches down to smooth down his daughter’s wild bedhead. “That’s a question you don’t need answered until you’re older.”

“How much older?” Claire asks him as Dean hurries out of the bathroom at the same time Castiel hurries her in.

Castiel sighs as Dean kisses him on the cheek once the bathroom door has shut behind both of them. 

“I’ll make breakfast.”

By the time Castiel finished changing into his scrubs, Dean was already standing at the kitchen stove, a couple of fried eggs sizzling away in a pan. In another, Dean is busy flipping a couple of pancakes. Dean points him toward a plate placed beside Claire who’s busy munching on a handful of grapes that had been placed on a Barney plate for her.

“Are you sure you don’t mind watching Claire for me?” Castiel asks Dean as he hastily cuts up his stack of pancakes.

Shaking his head, Dean gives him a nefarious grin as he shuts off the stove and slides the cooked pancakes onto a stack beside him. “No, Claire, and I’ll get into as much trouble as we can today.”

“Yea!” Claire yells as she munches around a grape, “we’re going to rob a bank!”

Alarm painted itself across Castiel’s face even as Dean let out a hearty laugh as Claire began a chant of “rob a bank” that Dean quickly joined in on much to Castiel’s chagrin. Breakfast quickly came to an end with Castiel quickly kissing Dean on the cheek and doing the same for his daughter.

“Don’t be a nuisance for Dean, okay? I’ll call later to make sure you’re fine. If you need Daddy, you know my work emergency number, right?”

Nodding vigorously, Claire wished her father goodbye on his way out the door. 

“Now,” Dean exclaims as he leans against the kitchen island, “what should we do today?”

There’s a wild grin that stretches across Claire’s face that reminds Dean of his own. By the time three o’clock rolls around and Castiel’s walking back through the door, there’s the distinct smell of warm, baked goods permeating the area that grows stronger the closer to the kitchen he gets. The scent of chocolate chip cookies draws him in, a trojan horse that doesn’t prepare him for the mess that decorates the kitchen.

“Hi, Daddy!” Claire waves at him, there’s flour streaked across her cheek and chin, she’s clutching a spoon tightly in her hand that’s coated in cookie dough mix. There’s a mess of flour and raw cookie dough dusting the kitchen island that has Castiel’s brows shot up just as Dean turns around to smile at him.

His own cheeks are covered in flour, a streak of it across the bridge of his nose that has the shock melting from Castiel’s veins only to be replaced by laughter. 

“We baked cookies,” Castiel follows his daughter’s sticky fingers to a baking tray lined with chocolate chip cookies. Picking up one, he bit into it, the overly sweet flavor of the chocolate chips exploded on his tongue that made the slightly overbaked cookies palatable. His daughter’s eyes shimmered expectantly at him.

“It’s good.”

Claire lets out a yell of joy as Dean starts to clean up the kitchen. One everything is clean and the cookies are slowly being eaten off between the three of them. Claire tells him about her day with Dean, how the two of them ended up watching a movie, and playing in the leaf piles in the backyard. Castiel is smiling through her retelling of events as he stoops down to ruffle her hair and ask her what she wants to eat for dinner. Her answer ends up being ice cream, but he somehow manages to coax her into wanting pizza instead.

By the time the pizza’s showed up and everyone is seated at the kitchen island instead of the dining table, there’s growing hints of sexual tension just radiating off of Castiel that hammers into Dean’s side. His cheeks are burning a bright shade of pink when he remembers everything that had happened between him and Castiel...especially in the shower this morning.

He remembers how warm Castiel’s body had felt against his. Like his own personal furnace that kept him warm in the middle of the night. Or how Castiel’s lips had been much softer than he expected—much softer than he had dreamed of in the late-night dreams that gripped in his sleep and left him wide-eyed and gasping with his sheets twisted between his legs.

Dean’s munching on a slice of pepperoni pizza when he inhales sharply, the hot cheese and dough mixture sliding down his throat as the tips of Castiel’s fingers brushing along his denim-covered knee. They inch up slowly, just enough to tease, until those fingers are brushing along the inside of his thigh in a suggestive manner. Glancing at Castiel he can tell the other man is staring at him slightly, gauging how he’s feeling, looking for a reaction from him.

Well, Dean doesn’t push his hand away, instead, he leaves his legs open like a wanton invitation. Fingers skirting against his inner thigh reach up further until Castiel’s pinky just barely touches the slight curve of denim where Dean’s dick is. A quick inhale of breath and a sharp jerk of his knee causes Dean to lean forward, his lips pressed tightly together as he tries to think of the unsexiest things in the world to keep him from going hard.

_ Grandma’s in a shower _ . Dean thought to himself.  _ Come on, Dean! Grandma’s in a shower _ .

“Dean?” He glances at his left where Claire is sitting, the head of her dinosaur chicken nugget submerged in the deep amber bowl of syrup she’d been given upon her request. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he manages to grit out between tightly clenched teeth.

Once they manage to finish dinner and put Claire to bed, Dean and Castiel find themselves on the living room couch. Dean’s hands are pressed against the thick flesh of Castiel’s arm, his lips are captured in a searing kiss that makes all of his cells tingle and his mind going breathlessly numb. Every time he leans in for more, Castiel pulls away from him with a breathy, teasing laugh that has Dean chasing after his lips. 

It’s a game of cat and mouse that Dean’s eager to win as Castiel leans back down to give his bottom lip a quick swipe of his tongue that isn’t enough for him given his reaction of nipping at the puffy flesh and sucking it between his lips.

Entire body humming with delight, Dean laughs as Castiel pulls away from him yet again, his lips just out of reach as he watches Castiel rest his head on his chest. “Tell me about yourself,” he whispers, his eyes glittering from the soft glow of the tv chasing away the shadows of the darkened room.

“Really?” Dean hums, his lips twitching into a smile, “while we’re doing this?”

There’s a speculative look that flits over Castiel’s face as he stares down at Dean, his left hand is rubbing against Dean’s upper back as he frowns at him. “You might have this concept that pleasure and sex are these quick things to experience, but it’s so much more than that,” he pauses, his hand sliding from under Dean’s back to grip his wrist and turn it slightly so he could press pink lips against the pulsing vein that was there. His other hand dances along the surface of his ribs, his voice dropping to a soft coo that a lover’s voice would take on once their bodies had been slick with sweat and bodily fluids, reclining on stained sheets as they whisper dreams and thoughts to each other. “It’s so much more than that, Dean. I want to know what your dreams and desires are; things that no one else has ever known about you.”

Humming to himself, Dean’s lips press firmly against themselves. He blinks slowly, imagining a gilded gate before himself, the key pressed firmly in his hand and Castiel standing on the other side. Hope and an expectant look brushed across his face. Taking a deep breath, Dean gripped the key in his hand firmly.

“When I was 19,” he began, his eyes shut as he utters out words he hadn’t ever told anyone else before, “I dated this girl, Rhonda Hurley, she’d been visiting her grandparents for the summer and I met her at the local farmer’s market. We quickly got physical in our relationship and at one point she dared me to try on her panties.” The corner of his lips flits into a quick smile as he remembers the single piece of underclothing. “They were these pink, satiny things. And you know what?”

“What?” Castiel asks him as he pauses somewhat melodramatically.

“I kind of liked it.”

He reaches up, brushes the pad of his thumb against Dean’s lower lip in a gesture that awakens all of Dean’s cells. His lip tingles where Castiel has touched him. “That’s hot,” Castiel murmurs, “would you ever consider wearing something like that again?”

Teeth sinking into his lower lip, Dean pauses, his lower lip slipping from the grasp of his teeth to press his mouth against Castiel’s clavicle. “I’d wear a whole lingerie set if it was for you.”

Sticking his tongue between his teeth, Castiel’s forehead wrinkles slightly as he considers the offer. “I’m gonna have to hold you to that promise.” His thumb brushes against Dean’s jaw, tracing an invisible pattern against the skin. “Tell me a secret about you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean has a lot of secrets he could tell Castiel; how sometimes in the darkness of his own apartment as he finds himself unable to sleep and staring up at the ceiling that he believes himself to be worthless. How sometimes he gets afraid that he’ll end up turning into his dad, that because of that fear he’s afraid at some point Castiel and Claire will toss him to the curb and leave him.

His eyes are misty as he slowly begins to tell all of this to Castiel. As he talks, he feels a thumb brushing against his cheek in a soothing gesticulation of adoration.

“You’re good, Dean,” Castiel’s voice is low and raspy in the darkness of the room, “if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here right now; you wouldn’t be involved in Claire’s life. Your dad was a piece of shit to you and Sam, but you and your brother grew up to be the men you are without him. So I’m thankful to Bobby and his wife for coming into your life.” Castiel’s eyes are warm with passion, the warm waters of an island in the summer that Dean felt like he was drowning beneath. But instead of panic or fright, there was a sense of...validity there. Like Dean had settled into a comfortable chair that had been built just for him. “You’re the best thing that has ever walked into my life, Dean Winchester, and for that I’m grateful.” He leans down to kiss Dean on his cheek.

A chaste kiss that quickly turns more heated than a fresh frittata out of the oven. Dean’s lips are parted as Castiel slips his tongue in, there’s a warmth against Dean’s back with Castiel’s hand pressed there. 

Castiel’s absentmindedly rutting against him as their tongues slick with saliva dance between the two scorching hot caverns that are pressed tightly together. Sighing, Dean tilts his head back slightly, allowing Castiel’s tongue to burrow deeper into his mouth. Fingers fly to the button of his jeans, quickly undoing them in what seems to be record time, fingers slipping into his pants, trace along the hem of his boxers and slip in to tug them down just enough so that his half-hard dick is exposed to the chilled air. Dean moans, a shuddering ripping through his body that leaves his brain occupied by only thoughts of Castiel’s fingers as those long appendages wrap around his shaft and tug on him in a manner that makes his toes curl. 

Soft, yet muffled moans curls from Dean’s lips as he tries to taste any inch of flesh on Castiel’s exposed skin that he can. His brain is mushy from the heat that it doesn’t take long for the rhythm Castiel’s maintaining to send him over the edge. He throws his head back, his fingers digging into Castiel’s sides as cum gushes out of him, splatters against the edge of his shirt and his exposed stomach.

“Dean, you alive?” Castiel snorts as he pats Dean’s spaced-out face. Slowly, Dean blinks at him as he slowly returns to consciousness.

“Mm, I’m alive,” Dean slurs, his nerves still tingling as Castiel grabs a tissue from the end table next to the couch to clean him up. Once he’s clean and his jeans are zipped and buttoned up, Castiel snuggles on top of him despite the tight fit of both men on the couch.

He’s rubbing Dean’s back, his nose pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder when Castiel slowly breathes out a question. “Do you want to pick out a Christmas tree with me tomorrow?”

“Yea, I’d like that,” Dean manages to emit as sleep pulls him under in its embrace.

**November 26, 2005**

Dean groans, throwing his arms over his head as he stretches out against cotton bedsheets. His joints crack audibly causing the other body beside him to stir awake with a sleepy smile. Castiel’s thumb strokes the side of his cheek as Dean reenters the world of the living.

“Good morning, Dean.”

“Ngh?” Dean groans as he cracks open one single eye to stare at the dark-haired man. His head is a mess with random strands of hair sticking up every which way. It isn’t long before Dean’s eyes are wide open once Castiel utters out something that Dean hadn’t ever expected him to say given the moment.

“I love you.” The shock on Dean’s face has Castiel giving him a crooked smile. “I don’t expect you to say it back right away,” he explains, “only when you’re ready to.”

It doesn’t take long for Dean to fall back asleep as Castiel continues to stroke his cheek. By the time he wakes up again, the clock on the bedside table screams at him that it’s a few minutes past noon. He heads downstairs after slipping on a pair of sweatpants and stumbles around the house as he searches for Castiel. He finds him in his office, his fingers flying over the keys of his computer, a pair of dark square glasses resting on the bridge of his nose that has Dean’s brain hissing with static as he stares at him, his mouth slightly ajar.

Castiel notices that he’s standing at the edge of the room after some seconds. He glances in Dean’s direction, a smile tugging at his lips as he motions for Dean to come over to him. Bending down, Dean steals a kiss from him, one that Castiel seems a little eager to return in kind. Once they’ve pulled apart, blue eyes flicker to Dean’s lips. “Really? You have a thing for glasses or something?”

“I’ve just never seen you wear glasses before.”

“Mhm,” Castiel hums, his hand rubbing along Dean’s arm, “and what do you think of them?” He cocks a brow at him and wiggles it slightly in a way that has Dean snorting.

“They look good on you.” Dean relents.

“Just good? Not even something like ‘Cas you look cute in those’ or ‘Cas those make you look sexy’?”

“I’ll never say that in a million years.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at such a statement. They end up eating breakfast after Castiel heads upstairs to wake up Claire; one everyone’s hunger is sated and they’re all dressed, they get packed into the car and head to a tree farm in order to pick out a Christmas tree.

The moment they pull up to the tree farm, Claire lets out an adorable, impressed gasp as the twinkling multicolored lights dazzle in the chilly winter air. Tiny flakes of snow are starting to drift down from the sky, covering the grounds in a thin, slick layer of loosely packed snow. The windshield wipers on the car are doing a lazy job of wiping any snow that sticks on the windshield off. 

Claire is all but bouncing on the balls of her feet once Dean gets her unstrapped from her car seat. She nearly races off into the maze of Christmas trees, but Dean calls out for her to stop and holds out his hand for her to take. He has to lean down a little just so she can wrap her gloved hand around the tip of his fingers. Slipping his own hand into Dean’s free own, Castiel smiles at him as all three of them head toward a row of trees. They’re there for some minutes, with Claire wanting to stop every other minute or so to stick her face into the needles and deeply sniff them when Castiel settles on getting a Fraser Fir for its rich smell and the fact that the branches of the tree would be strong enough to handle the weight of the ornaments.

Once they pay for it, they manage to strap it to the top of the car and drive it back home where Dean helps Castiel drag it into the house and places it into a corner of the living room. Boxes of ornaments are already stacked neatly in front of the coffee table.

“Want to help Daddy decorate the tree?” Castiel bends down to ask Claire, her eyes wide and glittering as she watches him pull out a gold, sparkling bell ornament that has a red ribbon wrapped around the top of it.

She nods her head vigorously as Castiel begins to rifle through the boxes. Dean, Castiel, and Claire start to put ornaments on the heavy branches; a warm, bubbly feeling churns in Dean’s chest as memories of he, Sam, Bobby, and Karen decorating the Christmas tree during the holiday overcomes him. A few hazy memories of his mother holding him still on her lap as she decorates their tiny, Christmas tree float through the rivers of memories in his brain.

It doesn’t take them long to decorate the tree. Claire is sitting on Dean’s shoulders as he lifts her up to place the angel holding a star on the top of the tree. “I got it!” She squeals as Dean lowers her down to the ground, Castiel is kneeling on the floor as he plugs in the power cord trailing away from the tree into the outlet. The tree comes to life, a multitude of colors twinkling in the darkened room, sending a soft, pale glow that chases away the shadows and fills Dean with a strange, settled sense of warmth that feels complete as Castiel scoops up Claire into his arms, his cheek rubbing against hers as she squeals and yells that his stubble burns. 

Letting out a noise of surprise as he’s pulled into a three-way hug with the two of them, Dean can’t help but smile even as the lights continue to twinkle as the snow outside gets a little heavier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I too wish I could have a small child so we could both shout "rob a bank" to the consternation of my SO
> 
> Next Update: September 11


	19. Snakes Lying in the Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We start this chapter off with smut! And also introduce a character that will eventually play a pivotal part in one of the arcs of Overcome!

**November 27, 2005**

“I don’t want you to go,” Castiel groans as he leans forward to kiss Dean’s cheek. They’re standing in the entryway. Dean surprisingly has most of his clothes on and isn’t pushed up against the wall as Castiel tries to convince him with some intoxicatingly persuasive kisses about all the reasons he shouldn’t walk out of the door at the moment, but, Dean has business to attend to and he’s sure if Castiel wanted to prevent him from leaving any other day he would.

“As much as I don’t want to go,” he groans, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s own, “I have to be a good healthy, functioning adult and go to group therapy. But we’ll meet up before I go to the airport?”

“Yes, we will.” Poking him in his side, Castiel’s lips twitch into a sort of half-smile as he reluctantly opens the front door for Dean.

He has a single foot over the threshold when he swivels around, grabs Castiel’s face between his hands, pulls the man forward, and slots their lips together like they were the missing puzzle pieces in the box that completed a 300 piece puzzle—which in Dean’s opinion, is a ridiculous amount of puzzle pieces to even have, why would people torture themselves like that? Their lips parted, a hot breath shared between them that Dean took advantage of by slipping his tongue into Castiel’s cavernous mouth. His slick tongue touches all the curves, nooks, and crannies of his mouth as if he’s trying to map the interior with the surface of his tongue, lest he forget it. Moaning, Dean grins as one of Castiel’s hands slides to cup the curve of his ass, giving it a little squeeze that has him snorting into the kiss.

“God, you have such a cute butt,” Castiel blurts out the moment they pull away from each other, to reiterate his statement he squeezes Dean’s buttcheek again.

“I had fun this weekend,” he whispers, his mouth curving into the faint ghost of a smile, “I really, truly had fun with you guys.”

“Well,” Castiel chuckles softly, “Claire and I had fun with you too.” He cocks his head to the side, eyes twinkling from the flashing glow of angel Christmas lights strung up in the windows. “But you’re always free to come back here whenever you want to, you know that right?” 

“I know,” Dean nods, his lips flitting into a loose smile as Castiel presses his lips to his forehead.

There’s a lot of goodbyes, promises, and more kisses combined with Dean’s protests that he doesn’t want to be late. He almost doesn’t make it out of the door when Castiel curls his fingers into the belt loops of his pants, jerks Dean’s hips forward to press his own against them, and pulls him back inside. Reaching out, he closes the front door. His hair is messy in the back from where Dean’s fingers had been tugging at it, both of their mouths are kissed raw until they’re red; there’s the flutter of a moan in Dean’s throat as he feels Castiel’s semi-hardness brush against his inner thigh.

“Are you trying to make it difficult for me to leave?” Tipping his head back to pull his kiss swollen lips away from Castiel’s racy mouth, he regrets it when Castiel chooses to attack his exposed neck in lieu of his lips. Licking, sucking, and nibbling on the exposed expanse of skin, Dean shudders, his hands flying to fist into the loose shirt that the dark-haired man wears.

“What gives you that idea?” Castiel questions innocently as if his current actions are being misconstrued by Dean. He rolls his hips, causing the words that were being pieced together to form a sentence in Dean’s brain to die before they even made it to his lips.

“Let me see,” Dean manages to choke out, a moan tampering itself down in his throat, “we’re both half-hard—”

“You’re half-hard,” Castiel whispers in Dean’s ear as he makes himself busy by pressing the tip of his tongue to the edge of Dean’s neck and licking across the expanse of skin until he sinks his teeth in. It’s just the barest bit of pressure, but it’s enough to make Dean want to stay. “ _ I’m _ hard.”

“Cas,” a puff of breath manages to slip past Dean’s lips as Castiel pushes him up against the door, pinning him against the solid wood with his weight and a surprising amount of strength that Dean never realized he had. His leg slips between Dean’s own, spreading his legs apart and leaving him exposed like he’s a tray of sashimi at a sushi bar. “Cas,” there’s a firmness weighing on his tongue, a firmness in his tone of voice that he tries to convey but is smashed into pieces with every kiss that Castiel pilfers from him. “Cas. Come. On. I. Need. To. Go.” Each word that Dean manages to get out is punctuated with a dizzying kiss that grows more debauched between each word. At some point Castiel manages to sneak his tongue in, has lifted up Dean’s right leg so that it’s hooked over Castiel’s left. Castiel’s grip is firm on the thicker part of his leg as he all but grinds his hips against Dean.

“Just stay,” as if to punctuate his point, Castiel pulls away, pulling on Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m sure your group won’t mind if you show up a few minutes late.”

As much as he can’t help it, there’s an apostrophe of a smile that causes the corner of Dean’s lip to turn upward. He doesn’t want to be late, but damn if Castiel isn’t making the argument of staying back a little bit more appealing. “Cas, I really don’t want to leave here with a boner and if I don’t leave in a few minutes I will be late.”

“Mhmm,” Castiel hums, his fingers already working on unbuttoning Dean’s jeans, “you won’t have to leave here with one once I take care of you.”

“No,” Dean smacks his shoulders, his cheeks burning a bright shade of pink, “I—hold on—can you stop undoing my jeans, already!” Castiel’s fingers still, the tips of his index and thumb holding his zipper. His cheeks puff out, causing him to resemble a chipmunk. Lifting his hands to rake through the locks of his hair, he firmly stares at Castiel. “I’m gonna suck your dick.”

“What…?” Castiel is at a loss for words even as Dean pushes him up against the wall, crouches before Castiel, and starts to undo his belt. “Dean—” Castiel tries to protest, but the warm fire of determination burning in Dean’s eyes as he glances up at him silences the man. “Fine,” he huffs, watching carefully as Dean fishes his cock out between the opening of his jeans.

The flesh is warm in his hand; heavy with the tip a reddened and weeping mess. Clear fluid dribbles out of the tip and curves across his thumb. Tongue darting out to wet dry lips, Dean firmly gives the cock in his hand a few tugs as he leans forward, his lips parted and his tongue slightly poking out of his mouth, to lick at the fluid leaking out of Castiel. The tip of his tongue follows the trail until he flicks the wet organ against the slit once he reaches it. The muscles in Castiel’s thigh tense, his bottom lip pulled in between his teeth as he gazes down at Dean with darkened eyes.

A ghost of a smile flits across Dean’s mouth as he circles the slit with the tip of his tongue. Upper teeth sink a little deeper into Castiel’s lip as he attempts to stifle a moan; wetting his lips once more for good measure, Dean’s lips part a little wider to accommodate the girthy nature of Castiel’s dick, his slips slip around the head, tongue massaging the frenulum as he sinks a little lower, taking about half an inch of Castiel’s dick in his mouth. He knows he should probably make this quick considering how much he was protesting earlier about wanting to leave, but now that he’s crouched before Castiel with his cock in his mouth there isn’t anywhere else he wants to be.

Inching forward Dean hums as Castiel’s fingers slip through the locks of hair on the back of his head, fingers tangling themselves between the strands. He starts to suckle on the half-inch of cock that’s weighing down his tongue, he can feel Castiel shudder beneath him. The quietness of the hallway is disturbed by the wet, slick sound of Dean’s mouth on Castiel’s cock. He tastes of sweat and skin with a natural saltiness to him that Dean chases after with a gusto that he’s never felt before. His tongue swirls around his length, the tip teasing at his slit and frenulum every so often that Dean is memorizing what Castiel likes and doesn’t like by the way his fingers twitch against his scalp and tighten in his hair.

“Dean—” Castiel all but groans as his grip on Dean’s hair jerks slightly, he makes a rough pushing motion on the back of his head like he’s trying to force Dean to take down more of him. “I thought you didn’t want to be late for therapy?” Castiel jokes as he inhales a gulp of air. A single brow on Dean’s face rises as he glances up at him mid-blowjob as if to ask Castiel if he’s making this particular act a challenge.

Slipping more of Castiel’s cock in his mouth until it all but touches the back of his tongue, Dean pulls back and brings himself back down, his mouth slick with spit as he makes the doctor gasp under his ministrations. Whatever his mouth can’t get to, he uses his hand to touch. Mouth, warm, and slick with spit, Dean’s cheeks are cherry red as soft testaments of love and devotion are mingled with vivid curses that fall from Castiel’s tongue. Filthier promises of things that Castiel wishes to do to Dean if they had just a little bit more time are intermixed with salacious vernacular that has Dean shivering as he forces more of Castiel into his mouth, the brief thought of taking the entire organ in until it hit the back of his throat until he can nuzzle his nose against his groin it’s a brief, yet almost pornographic thought that hazily exists within him for a few seconds.

Dean works through all the various tips and tricks of porn that he’s seen before; all the things that his female partners have done to him in the past that he’s enjoyed. He hollows his cheeks, licks every inch of skin his tongue can get to, bobs his head up and down on the cock in his mouth. It isn’t long before both of Castiel’s hands are in his hair, gripping so tightly on him that it feels like the roots of some strands are starting to pull out.

“Fuck, Dean….I’m gonna—” words trailing off into a moan, Dean can feel him twitching on his tongue as Castiel tries to pull him away. Pulling back, Dean can see the spit-soaked cock before him twitching wildly as Castiel hovers on the precipice of relief. His eyes are screwed shut, beads of sweat glittering on his forehead, a single curl of hair is hanging loosely on his forehead.  _ He looks good _ is what Dean thinks to himself as Castiel throws his head back, a hot burst of cum shoots out of him and splatters against Dean’s cheek. Spurt after spurt gushes out of him as Castiel arches his back against the wall.

When his body finishes relaxing in the aftermath of his orgasm, Castiel moans softly as he tips his head forward to say something to Dean, but he pauses, the scene before him better than any porn he’d seen in his lifetime on the planet. His thumb brushes across Dean’s lower lip, smearing a streak of his own cum across the silky, soft flesh. Pressing the pad of his thumb against Dean’s mouth, he waits, a silent invitation with no expectation from him. Eyes the color of liquid honey glint in a dangerous manner as if Castiel in that singular moment believes himself to be the hunter on the tail of his prey when it’s truly been the prey who was the one who’s leading Castiel to his doom.

Dean’s lips unseam themselves, tongue flickering out to lick the drop of cum on the pad of Castiel’s thumb clean. The mood of the room is doused with cold water when Dean’s lips quiver into a scowl, his nose scrunches up despite the hilarity of his cum streaked face. “Your cum tastes bitter.”

“Well, I’m sorry it doesn’t taste like pineapples,” Castiel snorts, “I would have downed some pineapple juice for you if you’d let me know you were going to blow me in my own hallway.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know in advance the next time I do.” A chuckle bubbles in Dean’s throat as he rises to his feet and starts to swipe at his face with the edge of his sleeve. Castiel has to swat his hands away from his face to stop him, he quickly stuffs himself back into his jeans and all but speedwalks into the kitchen only to return with a wet paper towel.

Dean accepted it, using the wet paper towel to wipe his face clean. “Thanks,” Dean tells him, he moves forward and presses his lips against Castiel’s cheek. “But I seriously have to go, I’m already fifteen minutes late.”

“Alright,” Castiel kisses him on the lips, “get out of here before you’re even later than you want to be.”

Dean smiles at him, quickly tells him goodbye before he ushers himself out of the house and into his car. It’s about a good distance away to the local rec center where his therapy group meets up weekly. The door to the room squeaks open, causing everyone seated in the circle of metal foldout chairs to glance at him mid-discussion; his lips twitch in apologetically as he rushes over to take the only empty seat near a red-haired woman with freckles splattering across her cheeks that Dean has seen in the group since he started attending.

An hour passes when his group breaks apart, some members leave right away, never the type to linger or mingle with others. The rest that doesn’t leave, stay behind, sip on the overly sweet punch or coffee that’s been provided and snack on whatever cheap snacks remain. Dean’s sipping on a paper cup full of punch when he hears a soft “hey” from behind him.

Turning, he’s surprised to find that red-haired woman standing behind him. Her hands are shoved into the pocket of her jeans, an army green jacket hangs loosely from her shoulders. His brows pinch together, his mouth tipping downward with a bit of uncertainty as he continues to stare at her. “You’re….Anna...right?”

“Yea,” she beams at him, hazel eyes shimmering slightly as she pulls a hand out of her pocket and extends it toward him. “Anna Milton.”

He shakes her hand. “Dean Winchester.” He doesn’t know much about Anna aside from whatever she tells the group. 

She was a local college student, a junior, who went to a party that the girls’ lacrosse team was throwing on campus. They’d just won a game and Anna had to attend as she was the lacrosse team’s goalie. As most college stories went, she’d put down her drink in a common area and took it back up again and sipped out of it, never suspecting that the few seconds she’d been gone that her drink had been tampered with. She woke up the next morning in a senior’s room. She knew him somewhat, but not well enough that she’d willingly go back to his room with him. She’d left, only to find that her underwear had been missing and her bra had been hooked wrong. 

Of course, she’d gone to campus police about the matter, but word tended to get around at college and soon she discovered how quickly friends and strangers would easily turn against you.

After that her grades had slipped, she’d taken the year off of college and found herself in Dean’s therapy group at the recommendation of her therapist. 

A soft, yet nervous smile flits across Anna’s lips as she hooks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of a group of other attendees who are huddled together, paper cups in their hands as they talk amongst each other. “Some of us are going out to grab some coffee and waffles at Denny’s if you wanted to come?”

“Sure,” Dean shrugs his shoulders, not really having any plans after this. He ends up following Anna and five others in the group to a nearby Denny’s. He quickly learns their names as all of them enter into the brightly lit diner, sit down and order a round of coffees. It isn’t long until they all start to slowly slip out of the booth, say their goodbyes, and words about needing to head home until it’s only him and Anna sitting in the booth at Denny’s as the clock reaches close to midnight.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home soon?” Dean questions as he flags down his waitress to order a plate of tres leches pancakes with a side of eggs and bacon. 

Anna rolls her eyes at him as she requests another coffee from the waitress once she’s taken down Dean’s order along with a side of seasoned fries. “I don’t really need to head to bed early unlike some older folks.” She taps her fingers against the side of her coffee mug. Her lips pressed firmly together as her gaze flickers between the window and Dean. Silence descends awkwardly between them as neither one knows exactly what to say in order to facilitate a conversation now that both of them are left alone.

“So have any cool Christmas plans coming up?” Dean asks her.

He watches her nose wrinkles as she snorts, “I haven’t heard anyone use the word ‘cool’ in a sentence since my parents hosted a Christmas party for all of their friends last year.”

“How old are your parents?” He asks her just as the waitress comes back and sets down the extra mug of coffee before Anna; she tells Dean his food will be out soon.

“Dad’s 48 and Mom is 47. What about you?” Anna points at him, she grabs the salt shaker and pours some over her fries. “You have to be what? Like 40? 42?”

“I’m 26.” Dean can’t help the smirk that flits across his face as he nods at his waitress who sets his order down on the table. Anna’s eyebrows rise on her forehead, her own mouth a mirror of Dean’s expression.

“Well...you don’t look super old for your age.”

“Super old?” Dean scoffs, “please I’m still young.”

Anna snorts, making light chit chat with him until he pays the bill for his own food and hers, despite her protests, but he does it anyway and they’re standing in front of Denny’s when Dean offers to drive her back home, but she shakes her head with a soft laugh and tells him she can just take the BART home. 

“Well,” Anna huffs, shoving her hands back into her pockets, “I’ll see you around, Dean? At least after Christmas that is.”

“After Christmas,” he confirms with a nod, his breath curling into puffs of air that dance away from him.

Her lips split into a smile, “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Anna.” Dean turns, heads to his car and once his engine fires up, he gives Anna a small wave as he pulls away from the curb. He doesn’t see the lingering look she gives him as he drives down the street.

**November 28, 2005**

The music coursing its way through the mall follows after Sam and Dean with every single step. It’s a cheery, Christmas tune that Dean’s heard enough but doesn’t quite know the name of.

“So what exactly are you looking for?” Sam sips from the smoothie in his hand that he’s purchased earlier. It’s a dark shade of green that made Dean gag dramatically upon seeing it.

“Christmas gifts for Claire. She’s into space-themed stuff right now, so I wanted to get her a few things.” They go around to a few shops where Dean manages to find some stuff that’s perfect for Claire; he ends up picking up a pair of galaxy-themed shoes in her size that light up, a beaded bracelet with stones representing the planets of the solar system, and a moon lamp that’s remote-controlled. Dean’s beaming with his gift purchases hanging from the shopping bags on his arm. “Now I just need to pick up stuff for Castiel. Have any clues about what I should get him?”

That causes Sam to laugh, “You really seem to be embracing the holiday season. I don’t know,” Sam shrugs his shoulders, “what sort of things does Castiel normally like?”

Dean combs through his mind about everything he knows regarding Castiel. He knows the man loves to cook, if Castiel had the chance to be confined to one room in his whole home, he knows he’d choose the kitchen over everything else. He thinks about getting him some stuff for cooking. Since it’s the holiday season and a lot of stores have things on sale, he picks Castiel up a set of gourmet dipping spices, a box containing an array of hot sauces, and an ocean sand art that he knows Castiel is just going to love. He thinks he’s done getting gifts for everyone until he and Sam pass by the store window of FYE and he just rushes inside, grabs the poster he saw advertised on the windows, and comes back out to show Sam after he purchases it.

Sam snorts as Dean rolls the poster back up and shoves it in its protective sleeve. “What do you have in your hand?” Jerking his chin at the small bag Sam is clutching in his right.

“It’s your Christmas gift,” Sam tells him, “but you’re just gonna have to see what it is during that day.”

They spend a little bit more time in the mall before Dean has a sudden realization that washes over him. “I don’t know how to wrap gifts!”

Sam rolls his eyes at such an outburst but promises to help him wrap up his gifts for Claire and Castiel when they head back to his apartment. When they get back, Sam has all the gifts laid out before him two different rolls of wrapping paper propped up against the kitchen table that Dean hardly ever uses. Sam has a handful of fries sticking out of his mouth as he and Dean talk about their upcoming trip together.

“I already have Bobby’s gift picked out,” Dean manages to blurt out around the mouthful of burger stuffed between his cheeks. “I just have to pick it up tomorrow.” The two brothers just chill around, the only sound in the apartment is the wrinkle of wrapping paper and the marathon of  _ Dr. Sexy, M.D. _ playing on TV. “Hey, so...Cas told me he loved me the other day.”

“Really?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up so far that they disappear beneath his bangs. “What’d you say back?”

“Nothin’.” The look of disappointment on Sam’s face is enough to make Dean frown. “Hey, look! I know I  _ like _ Cas more than anyone I’ve dated in the past, but I’m not sure I’m ready to tell him that I love him. It’s a big word and an even bigger hurdle to cross. I’m not even sure if the moment was the right time to say it to him.”

“Well,” Sam shrugs his shoulders as he takes the scissors and cuts a straight line through the material, “I guess all that matters at this point is that part of you knows you want to say the big L word to him; it’s just a matter of when.”

**November 30, 2005**

Lavender’s head is resting on Dean’s lap as he idly scratches behind the dog’s ear. Her tail thumps against the arm of the couch at the movement of affection. Pamela crosses one leg over her knee as she takes up her notebook with practiced ease and smiles at Dean, his face reflected in the dark glasses she wears.

“How is everything going, Dean?”

He tells her everything is going good, recaps for her most of the things that have happened to him in the past few weeks or so. “—and then he told me he loved me.”

An all-knowing smile curves across Pamela’s lips. “And what did you say to him?” Her eyebrows are arched upon her face.

“I didn’t say anything back; I  _ know  _ I love him, but I don’t think I felt ready at the moment to say it to him and he respected that.”

“Everything takes time, Dean,” Pamela soothes him, “even telling your partner that you love them. Do it when it feels right for you, not because it’s expected of you. Have you had any nightmares lately?”

“I’ve had a couple,” Dean tells her, he starts describing in vivid detail to her about a recurring nightmare that he’s been having for the past week or so. He’s been having a nightmare of a giant storm rolling in the distance, dark-grey clouds that hover above him and carry with it the sharp stench of rain that has yet to come down. Every time he dreams about it, the storm clouds continue to inch closer to him, but the rain never pours down. 

Pamela’s lips are pressed tightly together as she wiggles her pen between her fingers. “Maybe your subconscious is trying to speak to you through your reoccurring dream? Don’t dwell on the dream if it doesn’t come to you again, but I’d recommend keeping a dream journal.”

“A dream journal?” Dean watches as Pamela rises from her chair, with practiced regularity, she walks around the room without any difficulty and heads toward her desk. She pulls open a drawer and pulls a black leather journal out of it. “This is for you,” she tells him as she hands him the journal. “I want you to record your dreams in that; whatever you can remember when you wake up and even the smallest detail even if you think it’s unnecessary.”

He nods at that and the two of them resume talking with Lavender falling asleep on Dean’s lap close to the end of his appointment, he almost feels bad for shifting underneath her causing the dog to blink at him and yawn as she hops off of the couch. Returning home, he immediately calls Castiel as he chews on a baby carrot stick and winces as he thinks of Bobby.

“Dean!” Claire’s high pitched squeal comes on the other end of the phone, with Castiel’s voice following after her in the distance as he asks her to hand his phone over to him.

“Sorry about that,” Castiel tells him, “Claire answered my phone for me. What are you up to now?”

Dean can’t help the groan that leaves him, “I’m eating a carrot stick in honor of Bobby.”

“Are you okay Dean Winchester?” Castiel’s laugh on the other end is sweeter than any sound that Dean could ever hear. “You’re eating vegetables now? Jesus, did some aliens come to visit you at night or what?”

“Har, har, har,” Dean flouts into the phone, “sometimes I eat vegetables for my own good.”

“Sure, sweety. What did you and Sam do the other day?”

“We went to the mall; picked up some Christmas gifts for you and Claire.”

“You didn’t have to,” Castiel rebukes him, there’s a tenderness to his words that has Dean melting with a sense of consolation.

“I wanted to,” Dean points out, “besides Christmas is the one holiday out of the year that I actually care about aside from Halloween.”

A soft snort rips through Castiel, “Then we should have done something for Halloween this year, but there’s always the next. Crowley throws this amazing party every year for the holiday, I’m sure next year you and I can both go.”

“I’d like that,” Dean tells him, “though why am I unsurprised that Crowley is super into throwing a Halloween party?”

“You should have seen him last year, he went all out and actually cooked up a feast.” He pauses, there’s a hesitation there that Dean is starting to know well when Castiel wants to drum up the courage to ask him something. “So this Saturday…”

“This Saturday?” Dean teases him.

“Are you free by any chance?”

“For you? Always.” He wishes that he was facing Castiel so he could see the blush on his face.

“Want to see a movie with me and Claire? It’s going to be a kid’s movie and you’re always free to say no…”

“Cas,” Dean laughs, “I won’t ever say no; not when it comes to you and Claire. Especially not Claire, have you seen her puppy dog eyes?”

Castiel’s deep laughter on the other end of the phone fills Dean’s chest with a warmth that makes him sink a little bit further into his bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: September 25


	20. Chicken Little

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter is a little short since not too much happens in it besides a mountain of fluff and some bitter memories. And the next couple of chapters are going to be short too until we're back to our regularly scheduled angst, comfort, and other feelings by chapter 23! So please hold on until then!

**December 3, 2005**

Saturday couldn’t have come quickly enough in Dean’s opinion. 

“Daddy, can I have the lemon candies?” Claire’s face is pressed against the glass of the concessions stand. Her eyes shining with wonder as she stares at the box of Lemonheads in the display case.

“Sweetie, those are going to be too sour.” Castiel idly remarks as he splits his attention between pulling his daughter away from the glass and asking the young teenager manning the concessions stand for two large buckets of popcorn; one a regular salt and butter flavor and the other coated with sweet caramel sauce.

“Hmm,” Claire hums, gaze sweeping over the rows upon rows of candy before her, “can I have em-in-em’s then?” She asks, cutely mispronouncing the chocolate covered candy’s name.

Castiel glances at her, his face twisted like he wants to deny his daughter’s request, especially as he’s buying a sweet flavored popcorn, but pauses when he notices the puppy dog eyes she’s giving him. He groans, pressing a hand against his heart and mutters beneath his breath with narrowed eyes, “She’s getting too good at that.” 

“Fine,” with a softening of his expression, Castiel reaches out and pinches his daughter’s cheek, causing her to giggle. “But ask Dean to get you candy?” Ocean blue eyes flicker up to glance at Dean, the blond-haired man jerks back lightly as if he hadn’t been expecting this sudden request.

Wordlessly he stares at Castiel, stares at those ocean-colored eyes that threaten to pull him beneath the waves and he recognizes what this is. It isn’t just a simple request, it’s a weighted test. A test to see how Dean melds with this little family, especially Claire, as Dean finds himself reminded of Castiel’s threat regarding Dean ever hurting his daughter’s heart.

Dean realizes just what Castiel is vaguely asking of him by offering for him to buy candy for Claire. Claire and he are a package deal, he’s not just getting Castiel all to himself, but he’s getting Claire at the price of two for one.

Stooping down into a crouching position, Dean smiles at Claire, never once taking his eyes off of Castiel. “Pick what you want,” he tells her, “and I’ll buy it for you.”

“I can have whatever I want?” Claire gasps, no longer the metaphorical kid dropped in the middle of a candy store, but an actual flesh and blood child who had the doors to her mind thrown open with a concession stand of sugary sweets now at her disposal.

Surprise burns quickly in Castiel’s eyes, mouth pursed as if he wants to object and limit how much candy Claire can actually get.

Pressing her face back against the glass of the concession stand, Claire points out which candies she wants, glances at Dean who’s continuing to stare at Castiel. “Claire, do you want to get a soda too?”

Castiel’s lips curl inward, mouth puckered so tightly that Dean can’t tell whether he’s trying to hide a laugh or he’s forcing himself to not intervene at the expense of his daughter’s happiness. Paying for the armful of candy and the sodas—graciously the cashier manning the concessions stand gave Dean an oversized popcorn bucket for him to put the assortment of candy into.

“I want to hold it! I want to hold it!” Claire cries out, her tiny fingers making grabbing motions at the bucket of candy that Dean lowers down for her to hold.

“Don’t let her open all of them,” Castiel sighs in Dean’s direction as he watches his daughter already tearing open a box of Milk Duds. “Otherwise, I don’t know if she’ll ever sleep.” He adds, a shuddering tearing itself through him that has Dean laughing as they follow a couple of families toward the row of theaters. One of them displaying a banner for  _ Chicken Little _ .

Already enthusiastically chirping up about the movie they’re about to see, Claire is a rollercoaster of cherubic energy. Either it was the enthusiasm of the experience of seeing a new movie or it was the half a box of Milk Duds that she had managed to consume from their short walk to the concessions stand to the theater.

“Claire, why don’t you save some of the candy for when the movie starts,” Dean tells her, his words earning him a chipmunk-like smile when Claire drops the tiny fistful of Milk Duds back into the box despite the fact that she already has a bunch of them stuffed into her mouth.

Entering the theater, the trio find seats in the middle of the theater. Claire tucked in the middle between her dad and Dean. The theater’s half-packed, mostly families with small children and a random cluster of teenagers. The theater lights dim after a couple of minutes pass, the screen flickers, text floating across the surface that the film would begin soon. Claire’s vibrating in her seat from the sheer excitement of it, she only stills when her dad reaches out to ruffle her hair that’s been pulled back into twin pigtails. 

The theater lights darkened, enveloping the room into deep darkness. In the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Castiel give him a warm smile, the glow of the movie screen brightened to a light blue that paled in saturation to the Novak’s eyes. The Disney Castle displayed itself on-screen, causing Dean to relax back in his seat as he prepared himself to sit through an hour and a half long kid’s movie.

Dean expects himself to hate it but actually finds himself enjoying watching Chicken Little doing his utmost to earn the respect of the town. While watching the film, he feels a warm, tiny weight pressed against his left arm, turns his head to see Claire shoving her hand into the bucket of buttery popcorn on his lap that he hadn’t realized had been angled toward her. He watches her, a fond smile of his own splitting his lips apart as she pecks at the popcorn as a baby chicken would.

Shifting the bucket of popcorn ever so slightly, he makes sure it’s close enough for her to grab as much as she wants without having to lean across the seats.

The popcorn is nearly gone by the time Chicken Little and his friends discover the alien infant that they name Kirby. A gentle touch causes Dean to startle, he glances down to see Claire slipping her greasy, butter-soaked fingers into the palm of his upturned hand. Reflexively, Dean’s fingers lace themselves between hers, curling inwardly so that he’s holding her hand.

The film soon comes to an end, credits rolling across the screen as the theater lights flood back on into a bright yellow glow that was a little harsh on the eyes after being in dim light for so long. Next to Claire, Castiel’s whole body jerks awake, the curtail end of a snore ripping itself out of his throat, sleep layered over his eyes as he blinks at his daughter and Dean with some confusion. “Did I miss it?”

Claire laughs, a laugh that’s bubbly and infectious and pulls Dean down into its depths with her. 

As they poured out of the theater, Claire rapidly spoke with such gusto that it left her winded as Castiel carried her in his arms. She spoke with such enthusiasm about  _ Chicken Little _ that it hardly seemed like her first time watching the film. Dean’s keeping up with her, talking about his favorite parts of the film since he’d been the only adult to accompany her who hadn’t fallen asleep the first few minutes of the film.

“How does breakfast for dinner sound you guys?”

Claire giggled upon catching her breath. “Daddy, can I have sprinkles on my pancakes?”

“Sure, sweety.”

All three of them end up in Castiel’s car as he drives to Denny’s. They walk inside with Dean wiping Claire’s fingers off with a wet wipe that Castiel conveniently had stashed away in his car. They were quickly seated in a booth; despite it being the weekend and late at night, there was hardly much business in there aside from a group of teens, an older couple, and some regular patrons.

“Hey, Dean,” Castiel drums his knuckles against the table, “I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick, can you watch Claire for me?”

He glances at Claire, who’s busy coloring in the kid’s menu with a pack of crayons the waitress had given her. “Of course I can,” he nods, catching the quick smile Castiel gives him before rising up from the table and heading off to the restroom.

“Your daughter is just the cutest thing ever.” Dean glances up to see the older woman who had seated the three of them, beaming down at Claire who was more focused on coloring the baby chick on the menu before her a dark shade of green. There was a slight southern twang to the woman’s words; those very words that caused Dean’s cheeks to heat up as he glanced at Claire.

There was an affectionateness that bloomed in the depths of Dean’s gut at Claire being mistaken for his daughter. “Ah—” Dean’s mouth flapped open, uncertain of what to say to that, he glances at Claire and then back up to the waitress, a smile slipping across his face that exposes his teeth. “Yea,” Dean finally nods, “she is.”

The waitress then asks them what they want for their drink orders. Claire asks for a lemonade, Dean requests a glass of orange juice for himself and Castiel. By the time Castiel comes back from the restroom, the waitress is already sliding their drinks down before them and is taking their food orders.

Breakfast for dinner is a fun affair, with Dean nearly choking on his food out of laughter trying to watch Claire fit half of her funfetti pancakes in her mouth, and Castiel sneaking a bite of said pancakes and finding that they’re extremely sweet. Apprehensively he eyes the pancakes and nearly has his eyes bug out in his head when Claire asks for dessert after.

“Only if you save the dessert for dinner tomorrow,” is his answer. They end up getting her a chocolate molten lava cake that Castiel immediately packs up in a to-go container before Claire can even so much as poke her pinky in the whipped creaming topping it.

By the time they leave, Dean has Claire’s body tucked carefully in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, and chocolate syrup smeared across her mouth. Her body having crashed some time ago from all the sugar she had managed to ingest, which caused Castiel to sigh with relief. Having expected his daughter to be a hyperactive mini hurricane that would run around the house and be difficult to corral into bed. Dean can’t help but smiling as he places her in her booster seat, a snort ripping itself from his lips as he turns to Cas and asks him if he has wet wipes so he can clean Claire up. They end up driving back to the Novak home, where Castiel retreats upstairs with Claire to clean her up and put her to bed.

Once he comes back down he smiles warmly at Dean and asks him, “Do you want a beer?”

Dean nods causing Castiel to retreat to the kitchen and come back with two bottles of a local IPA. They end up sitting on the couch, sipping on their beers, and holding hands as they talk about nothing and everything. Tipping his head back, Castiel’s eyes burn with a homely warmth as he asks Dean about his dreams.

“My dreams?” Dean snorts, slightly taken aback by the sudden question.

“Yea,” Castiel nods, “you couldn’t have always known that you wanted to be a mechanic, so what is it that you wanted to do when you were a kid?”

Dean wrinkles his nose at that, tipping his head back slightly so that he’s staring up at the ceiling before answering. “I always wanted to build and design cars,” he says after some time, “I really wanted to make something out of myself y’know or,” his eyes twinkle as he recalls his past childhood desires, “I really wanted to own a bbq or burger place that also served amazing pies.” He takes a swig of his beer, “I just really wanted to make something out of myself.” Castiel nods at that even as Dean turns his head slightly to stare into his eyes. “What about you?”

“Me?” Castiel hums as he thinks about his answer, his shoulders rising slightly only to drop, “I always really wanted the picture-perfect family life you see in all the movies; the stable marriage, a couple of kids running around, maybe a cat or a dog, but—” he snorts, taking a bitter sip of his beer as if that’ll ease the bitterness on his tongue, “—that didn’t turn out as how I hoped it would.”

Dean’s mind flits to all the pictures of Castiel and Claire, how her mom is missing from them. “What happened between you and Claire’s mom?”

“My ex-wife?” Castiel’s brow perfectly arches on his face as he sighs and presses his cheek against his arm, “we met young, at high school to be exact. She was a junior and I was a sophomore.” He can’t help himself from laughing when he notices Dean’s brows rising ever so slightly, “what can I say? I have a thing for older women.” He continues with his story even as Dean laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “We started dating in high school, it was that type of young love where I thought we’d be together forever like I found my special someone. Even when we went to different colleges we still were together, did the whole long-distance thing even though it sucked. Once we graduated we got married, I started medical school and we had our whole lives planned out together.

“We both thought our marriage was perfect or at least I did,” Castiel continues, despite the light in his eyes dimming, “thought we’d stay together, grow old and have stories to tell our grandkids about each other. It’s funny how much you truly don’t know about a person when you’ve been staring at them with rose-tinted glasses for so long,” he laughs bitterly to himself, “she ended up cheating on me; I found out and she swore it was just a one-time mistake, a lapse in judgment, that I didn’t provide what she needed to the marriage so she went outside of it to look for the comfort she needed. I took it to heart, went to couple’s counseling with her and I thought we were over it until she ended up pregnant with Claire. Turns out she hadn’t been 100% faithful around that time either—”

“—is—is Claire—” Dean swallows unable to fully flesh out the question.

“Is Claire mine?” Castiel finishes for him, “she is, even if she wasn’t I was there for her the very moment she was born, nothing would have changed that; she’s still my daughter. Well, a few months after Amelia gave birth to Claire I came home to her packing and divorce papers on the table.”

“You weren’t expecting it?”

Castiel shakes his head, “I wasn’t, I tried to fight it at first but what’s the point of fighting for a marriage when the other person is done?”

“Do you ever hear from her?”

“I hear from her about every six months or so; Claire around her birthday, but that seems to be getting less and less consistent over the years.” He pauses to take a slow sip of his beer, “you know, she’s married again, has a 3-year-old and a 2-month-old with one of the guys she cheated on me with.”

Dean’s eyes go wide at that, “Does Claire know?”

Castiel’s lips quirk into a sad smile, “Amelia tried to get me to tell her, but I don’t think it’s something I should be burdened with unleashing on my own daughter. It’s a bed Amelia made for herself but is afraid to lie in and instead wants me to do it; I’m not going to.” Castiel’s eyes narrow, “Amelia left because she didn’t want to be a mom, but now that she’s actually one with someone else she doesn’t even know how to face our own daughter. Maybe one day I’ll tell Claire about it all, maybe when she’s older, but right now she has me and my family and I think that’s enough.” He glances at Dean and smiles at him, his eyes shimmering with wetness as he pats Dean’s hand, “but she has you and Sam as well.”

Dean smiles at that as he leans forward and captures Castiel’s lips in a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: October 9


End file.
